


Living With The Truth: A Timeless Story in Three Volumes

by Artm2



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artm2/pseuds/Artm2
Summary: An AU look at what happens after Flynn kidnaps Lucy, what she finds out about her past, and how that effects her future. Will she survive long enough to work with Flynn and take down Rittenhouse?





	1. Volume One: Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Timeless or its characters. I make any profit from this work.

Anthony was angry. He hadn't felt that way in a while so the sensation surprised him in its intensity. Flynn had gone too far this time. When Anthony had opened the mother-ship to find Flynn bodily hauling a struggling Lucy, he had been shocked. When Flynn shoved her into the jump seat and held her at gunpoint until she strapped in, shock had turned to anger. As Flynn strapped himself into his seat in preparation of the jump Anthony, in his anger, made a snap decision. He altered the coordinates with his right hand while his left eased under the dash panel, felt for a small depression, flipped open a small compartment, and removed a small command chip. He surreptitiously dropped the sturdy little chip into his boot and finished toggling the various levers and switches needed to guide the ship safely through the jump to its next destination. As they landed he unbuckled and spun around before either Flynn or Lucy had moved.

"Fix it." he stated emphatically. "Get out and fix it now." he pointed to the unopened door.

Flynn glanced over at him quizzically, his gun still trained on Lucy. "I don't know what you're talking about Anthony. Open the door. I've got work to do. I've got a boy to track." he replied with bored disinterest.

"I'm serious. You've changed and not for the better. You never would have done this before." Anthony replied his face getting red.

"Done what?" Flynn asked his voice rising in annoyance. He unfastened his buckles and put his gun away.

"Threatened Lucy. Pulled a gun on Lucy. Kidnapped Lucy!" he replied his voice rising in exasperation.

"She was going to work with us at some point anyhow. You knew that! I just helped it along. She was being stubborn." Flynn said looking at Lucy like a truculent child.

"No, two Lucys ago worked with us! The last Lucy didn't know we existed and then she died at the hands of Rittenhouse before Mason Industries ever hired her. This Lucy thinks you're a crazed mass murderer!" Anthony said standing, stepping forward and poking a now angry Flynn in the shoulder.

"What?" gasped Lucy. "What are you talking about?"

Anthony ignored her and continued looking intently at Flynn. "You know we have no control over how everything changes every time we pick off another member of Rittenhouse or save someone they meant to kill. This time is no different. But I do know this," he paused rubbing a hand through his thinning hair as he sat back down, "You never would have treated her like this before. Get out and make peace. Tell her everything. And I mean everything. Show her the journal. Our side needs her and you need her." he finished his voice low and pleading.

Flynn stood there surprised and obviously displeased. It was rare for Anthony to get angry and even rarer for Anthony to be angry with him. Emotions chased each other across his face; annoyance, regret, sorrow, anger, resignation. Flynn sighed. "Fine."

Anthony turned back to the control panels and finished powering the ship down. He opened the door. They were very obviously not back at their base. Instead of an abandoned church a lush forest stretched out around them, sunlight filtered through the dense foliage. They could hear birds call to one another; a cool breeze wafted in through the open portal.

Flynn looked out the door. "Where are we?" he asked calmly as if the last few minutes of conversation hadn't happened. Anthony shook his head over how mercurial Flynn's emotions had become since the last significant history change. This change in his friend hadn't been one of the positive changes.

"France. Just outside Geneve, in the French Alps. It's the same year so your clothes won't be too out of fashion. You'll just look like the country cousins in town for the day." Anthony replied, finishing the last of the shut-down procedures.

"Why here?" Flynn asked like he already knew the answer. He sat back down in his chair rubbed his hands over his face and looked at Lucy, an unreadable expression on his face.

Anthony turned around and looked at Lucy who had watched the exchange of words like a heated tennis match. "Haven't you always dreamed of seeing Geneve and the lake?"

She tore her eyes off of Flynn and looked at Anthony. "Well yes, but how would you know that and what did you mean by 'two Lucys ago' and the last Lucy?" she asked, her voice tightly reined in but her eyes wild.

"See! The more things change the more they stay the same." he said dryly to Flynn as he cocked his head to Lucy. He turned back to Lucy who was still looking perplexed at them. "Never mind, Flynn will explain everything." he said, his voice kind.

Anthony looked back to Flynn, steel in his eyes. "You have two days. I've got two days of emergency rations and a paperback I've been meaning to read stashed in here. I've ensured that we won't be found by Mason. Or Rittenhouse."

"What? How?" Flynn asked dumbfounded, his green eyes going wide.

"Flynn, Mason may have designed this ship but I built it. I made sure there was a way to disengage the tracking if I ever needed it" he said as he stood up and reached into an overhead. He took out a paperback and tossed it onto the control console. He reached back in and pulled out a small pouch and tossed it to Flynn. It jingled when Flynn caught it one handed. He reached in one last time and drew out a large leather packet that he handed to Flynn slowly. Flynn held it in his hands and looked down at it, his dark hair falling over his forehead, as if he could see its contents.

Anthony sat back down and looked at Lucy, his face weary but earnest, "I know Rufus told you never to trust me and he may be right. I've done horrible things. But listen -" he paused and searched for the right words, "You can trust this. Flynn will always tell you the truth. No matter what. Just listen to everything first before you try and make sense of it all. You need to know the truth before Rittenhouse comes after you again."

Lucy didn't reply, she didn't know what to make of the situation except that she was supposed to get out of the mothership with Flynn. Her hands shook as she unbuckled. She looked up at the hand Flynn offered her. After a moment's hesitation she took it, her hand cold against his, and he helped her to her feet nodding to the open door. She crawled out of the ship and down onto the forest floor. Flynn started to follow her, the package now tucked into his coat pocket.

"Remember, tell her everything. For her sake, and for yours." Anthony said one last time. He picked up the paperback, leaned back in his seat and propped his feet up on the console. "I'll open the door in two days time. Fix it."


	2. Chapter 2

The door cycled shut with a metallic swoosh and clang, then the ship disappeared in front of them. They both stood there for a moment until Flynn shrugged in disgust and without a word turned and strode off. Lucy turned to watch him go. She looked back at where the ship had been and then ran to catch up with Flynn.

"How do you know which way to go?" she asked as she fell into step with him.

"Boy Scouts." was the terse reply. Obviously Flynn was still upset from his exchange with Anthony and being tossed off the mother-ship.

Lucy wasn't relishing the thought of spending two minutes with this man, let alone two days, but she realized that she needed to make the best of the situation if she was ever going to make it back to the present day and her team. She tried again, becoming out of breath at the pace his long legs were setting. "Really? I never saw you as the camping out, knot-tying type." she quipped, trying for some levity.

Flynn snorted and smirked, looking at her briefly. Lucy was keeping up with him, he knew that in his anger over being forced to deal with this situation he was setting a fast pace. Despite the fact that she was almost jogging Lucy was trying to be pleasant, he'd give her that. In so many ways she was like the other Lucys he had known. She had always been able to draw him out of his dark moods. He slowed his pace, walked a few more steps, and then spoke, his voice holding an openness his face did not. "No, no Boy Scouts, although I can tie a mean knot." he said, "W- I've been here before." he finished awkwardly and jerked his chin in the direction they were walking. "Town is roughly this way. We'll find a road in a mile or two." Flynn adjusted his jacket, brushing lint off the arms in an attempt to appear casual. Inwardly he cursed his lack of control in kidnapping this Lucy. Anthony was right; he never would have acted like this with the Lucy that had worked with them.

"Ah." Lucy said, wondering what he had been going to say but unsure if she should press the matter.

They walked in silence for another minute or two while she turned her attention to the scenery of the mountain forest. She had to admit; if she were going to be stranded somewhere with Garcia Flynn at least it was France. Anthony was correct in that she had always wanted to come to the French Alps. She wasn't sure how this whole scenario worked exactly - there being multiples of her in the world, but she had an inkling. Amy did, after all, make her watch the occasional sci-fi movie with her. A pang went through her at the thought of her sister, still lost to her. Was it possible for there to be another Amy? She tried to draw Flynn out again, "So what did Anthony mean when he referred to other Lucys? Do I have an evil twin my mother didn't tell me about?"

Flynn stopped and turned to her, his face hard but his eyes sad, his hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at her. His hands had come up as if to grasp her shoulders. He didn't touch her but instead let his hands fall back down to his sides. "Look. I know you want to know everything, all right this moment, but I need to think about how to explain this all to you so you'll understand." he said evenly and then snorted. "Sometimes I don't even understand it myself. But I will explain it all to you, I promise." He looked into her eyes, his eyes pleading. "Just give me time."

Lucy swallowed the other questions she had been ready to ask, compelled by the emotions in his green eyes. She had noticed his eyes the first time she had met him, at the Hindenburg. They were so expressive and it had surprised her that a killer would have such eyes. At least, she had thought him a killer and a terrorist then. Now, well, he was still a killer. Breaking her gaze from his she instead looked down at his hands, now at his side. The knuckles on his hands were bruised and cut from the fight he and Wyatt had had with Rittenhouse's men. That seemed so long ago despite it only being a few hours.

"You're bleeding." she stated, mentally kicking herself for being so inane.

He looked at his hands as if noticing it for the first time. "It's nothing. I've seen worse." he said dismissively, surprised, and yet not, that she had noticed or cared about his well-being. Emotions better left buried started to come up within him. He tamped down on them, putting them away, as he thought about his hands and how they almost hadn't made it out of there. How Lucy had been dragged off to await rape at the hands of Rittenhouse. He briefly thought about how lucky he and Wyatt had been that Rufus had come to help them. All that flashed through his head and he was left with anger again. Anger was better than the other emotions he was feeling, but now he needed calm or he wouldn't get through the next two days. It was better to feel nothing until he saw how Lucy handled everything he had to tell her. Turning, he walked off. Lucy followed.

They walked in silence for a few more minute Lucy falling into step behind him, letting him and his mercurial moods get ahead of her. She had seen the welter of emotions cross his face just now and Anthony seemed to be right. Garcia Flynn was a man on the edge. She sighed and turned her attention to the forest around her. She savored the silence and the beautiful scenery, the trees soaring overhead like the ceiling of a cathedral. There was little underbrush in this old growth forest. Birds flit from tree to tree, calling out occasionally. Light filtered through the canopy and made patterns on the forest floor below. After the tumultuous events of the last few days peace and quiet was nice.

After a mile the road could be seen through the trees a dozen yards ahead. Flynn had stopped, waiting for her to catch up and then said, "Look, we're stuck here for two days. I don't know about you but I am tired and hungry. I haven't eaten in at least a day, and I haven't been clean in several." he said indicating his own travel weary appearance. "I know you're not in any better shape." He looked her up and down, noting her disheveled hair and rumpled clothing, then gazed off towards the road. After a moment he turned back to her, as if coming to a decision, "I haven't had a day to myself in longer than I can remember. I know that you haven't had any time off in the last six months since starting with Mason Industries. We'll be here for two days. Can we hold off on this 'discussion' until tomorrow morning? If you're going to trust me you need to know more about me than whatever is in that file that they showed you. And regardless of how well I think I may know you… the reality is, I don't really know you at all."

Lucy looked at him, trying to read him and any possible motives he had, but as usual, his face was in its neutral mask. "I thought you knew all about me." she stated, ignoring his suggestion.

He sighed, "I know you, in the generic sense. But this you," he said, emphasizing her, "… this you is different. They've all been slightly different. We are all made up of small, seemingly insignificant choices. Do I turn right or left? Do I want coffee or tea today? Do I buy the paper at the corner or cross the street?" he finished and shrugged.

Lucy thought about what he said and privately agreed that it had been too long since her last meal or shower. What would it matter if she learned the truth now or tomorrow? At least tomorrow she would be clean and fed. "Ok. I can live with that. What's your plan?" she asked.

"I thought we'd walk into town for food and a place to stay. There should be a market or someplace we can buy food or a meal and then I'll find us a room in an inn. Hopefully one with bathing facilities." he said with a small smile, trying to be nicer than he had been earlier.

Lucy nodded, "That sounds good." she said, agreeably.

They walked the remaining distance to the road and after checking to see if they were alone, stepped out onto it. For a time they walked along in companionable silence both lost in their own thoughts. Lucy wondered how her team and Mason Industries were reacting to her loss. She glanced over at Flynn who hadn't said a word in the last few minutes. His face was somber and his eyes serious; he seemed lost in thought as they walked along. The air was cool and crisp and smelled green and piney.

Flynn stopped and turned to her. "I almost forgot. Before we get to town you should have this." he said as loosened his neck-cloth, opened the neck of his shirt and drew a chain out. The chain held two gold rings.

Puzzled, Lucy asked, "Rings? Why?"

Flynn unfastened the chain and allowed the rings to slide off into his palm. He held out his hand to her, his attention fixed on the rings in his hand. "It'll be easier for us to travel as a married couple than as just two travelers. We can't pass as relatives - we don't sound alike, and if we weren't married or related you wouldn't be with me without another woman present. I don't want anyone to notice us." he said quietly.

Lucy moved to take the smaller of the two rings, "And you just happen to have a set of rings on you?" she asked. She took the ring from his hand and slipped it on. It was a perfect fit.

"I always have these with me. That one was my wife's." he said gruffly, his eyes sad, as he slid what was, she now realized, his wedding band onto his ring finger. He refastened the chain around his neck and adjusted his collar and neck-cloth, studiously not looking at her.

Lucy was momentarily struck. Most of the time it was easy for her to forget that part of his file; the part that talked about his family and their untimely deaths. It was easier to think of Flynn as just a terrorist instead of a man racked with grief over the murders of his wife and child. After all, he was supposedly the one who had murdered them and then run off to steal a time machine. But now that she knew about Rittenhouse and the broad reaching evil that they had perpetrated over the years, and still were, she was revising her opinion of Flynn and the "facts" that the government had on him. Was he really who they said he was? Did the government realize that Mason Industries was funded by Rittenhouse?

They walked the rest of the way into town in silence. As they approached the town limits traffic on the road picked up and became crowded. People were walking both in and out of town. Carts trundled by laden with produce, goods, and small livestock. Without speaking Flynn reached out to her and gently took her hand in his. Drawing her closer to his side, out of the jostling crowds and traffic, he shielded her slight frame with his body. A thrill went through Lucy and she mentally berated herself for it. Despite Flynn being who and what he was, every time he had touched her, her body reacted the same way. She didn't understand it. Somehow she had to focus on getting through the next two days and find a way back to her team.

As they passed the first large buildings Flynn drew Lucy aside out of traffic. Bending his head to be heard over the din of the crowds he spoke in her ear, his breath tickling her neck and making her shiver. "Well Lucy, would you like to explore Geneve of the late 18th century… maybe get to know one another?" he said with a smile that almost reached his eyes.

Lucy eyes were bright as she gazed at the bustling city around her. Here, now, at this moment, she truly was thrilled to be where she was, despite the circumstances. She was a child of history after all. It was only two days.

"I'd love to!" she responded with a smile of her own. At her smile his own became genuine. The trepidation she felt over being alone with Flynn started to dissipate. He took her hand, placed it in the crook of his elbow and guided her back into the crowds and the bustling town of Geneve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The French Alps hold many, many, lovely towns and villages. Geneve is an actual town on the banks of Lake Geneve on the border with Switzerland. This place is not to be confused with Geneva or Lake Geneva in Switzerland. I visited Geneve over thirty years ago and instantly fell in love with the beauty of the town and the region. Gauging from the looks of many of the historical buildings I saw while visiting it is a safe assumption that Geneve existed in the late 18th century. However despite my internet research and my rusty French I was unable to make certain. For the sake of this story, let's assume it was.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to those who have read and reviewed. It's been a while since I've done any writing and these are new characters for me. If they seem stilted or out of character, please let me know. Writers love feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my research for this story I took a very good look at maps of France trying to find the town I remembered from my travels so long ago. I found Geneve... it's across the border in Switzerland. Yup. SO my memories of my travels 30 years ago are rather imperfect. Geneve in English is Geneva. Sigh. In my defense, I don't remember crossing the border nor showing my passport AND my French, even then, was poor. I thought my traveling companions told me I was still in France but now I am certain I misunderstood them due to my lack of proficiency in their language. All the French maps I looked at have the town I remember labeled as Geneve and the English maps all have it labeled as Geneva. Either way, I had a wonderful visit there and wish I had the time and resources to go back. My most humble apologies to those from the region, I meant no disrespect. However for the sake of story continuity we'll just continue to go along with the location of Geneve being in France.

As the made their way through the crowded cobblestone streets they saw a myriad of sights before them. Fishwives and bakers, candle makers and potters, little girls selling flowers and matchsticks. There were boys on street corners hawking newspapers and priests on corners hawking salvation. The scent of fresh fish, baked bread, and flowers filled the crisp late summer air mingling with the aroma of unwashed bodies and horses. Lucy could barely contain herself. She was 'in history'. Living it. Breathing it. And all she had to do was enjoy it. Today no one was trying to kill her and she wasn't trying to kill anyone in return. Today there was no mission. There was just history. It made for a nice change.

Flynn held onto her hand as they traveled from stall to stall. The crowds here for market day were dense and he didn't want to risk being separated from Lucy. Geneve was familiar to him, even in this time, but he knew that for this Lucy, this was her first visit here and they hadn't spoken about a place to meet. He didn't want them to inadvertently get separated. So he held onto her hand and tried not to enjoy the sensation of being close to her. However it was a losing battle and he knew it. Each and every time he had been close to this Lucy, even though those times had been tense and full of strife, his body and mind had betrayed him. It made him angry then and still did now. This wasn't that Lucy and never would be. He could never have that time back, no matter what he said for the benefit of the Rittenhouse spies surrounding him.

They wandered and spent a good portion of the afternoon going from looking at the various wares for sale. Occasionally they purchased needed items. Needle and thread for the hole in his jacket, a comb, and hairpins for Lucy all made their way into a cheap basket they purchased. Stopping at a food vendor they purchased cheap meat pies and ale to eat while they watched street performers juggle balls and leap about. Occasionally they conversed with each other about the sights around them but more often than not they walked in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Flynn's thoughts invariably turned dark as they often did although he worked to cover his melancholy if for no other reason than not scaring Lucy and there-by having her reject all that he needed to tell her about Rittenhouse. He plastered a smile on his face, his facial muscles protesting from disuse. His side needed her. He needed her.

Occasionally Lucy would steal a look at Flynn while he was diverted and she was repeatedly surprised at how much he was relaxing. His face wasn't wearing what she privately dubbed the "neutral killer mask" although the darkness she associated with him was still in his eyes. Over the course of the afternoon he had gone from being "the madman/killer we need to stop" to just a man. She studied him as he haggled with an old man selling used clothing. His hair hung down over his forehead as he leaned in to point out some flaw in the garment that was on top of the pile of clothing they had chosen. Flynn's face was tired and thin. Even his distinct 5 o'clock shadow couldn't cover up how weary he seemed. However as he stood there and haggled in rapid French she couldn't help but note that he seemed almost happy, like he was enjoying the exchange. She wondered what, if anything, Flynn had to smile about in his life. She looked down at the ring on her finger and wondered about the woman who had worn it. Lucy was struck anew over how Garcia Flynn was just a man, not the 'evil genius mastermind' that the government, and Rittenhouse, had made him out to be. A very weary man carrying a heavy burden.

****

A handshake and money traded hands. Flynn turned to Lucy once he was done and she helped him fold the garments and put them into her cloak turned bag.

"So, French, German, and Spanish… How many languages do you speak?" she asked as she placed the last item in the makeshift bag and picked it and their basket up.

Flynn smiled as he took the bundle from her and carried it himself. He took her hand, drawing her close as they made their way back into the crowd. "Hmmm… fluent in? Four. English, French, Spanish, and Croatian. Languages I can get by in, including the German… hmmm… maybe another three." Flynn glanced at Lucy who looked amazed yet skeptical. "I was a NSA asset in Eastern Europe for a reason. I was born in Croatia and we traveled throughout Europe for my parents' work. Learning languages… It wasn't hard. It filled the time." He looked down at her, "What about you?"

Lucy smiled briefly at the fact Flynn was trying to be nice, then turned serious, "Oh, I'm not much of a linguist. I know French and Latin only because of my History studies."

"Don't sell yourself short. You speak Latin. It's a dead language. No one willingly speaks it!" he joked. She looked up at him and joined him in the jest. Holding his gaze, she saw some undefined emotion cloud his face, and she looked away, unsure.

Flynn sighed and gazed off into the crowd, plotting their course through it and wondering how he was going to get through the next 48 hours.

****

As afternoon started to think about evening Flynn led them out of the market and towards the quieter parts of town. He was hoping to avoid crowds and find them some lodging that still had room. Approaching a likely prospect he opened the door to a small inn tucked away on a side street. Bright red geraniums in clay pots adorned the front stoop and delicious smells of dinner wafted out the open door. Ushering Lucy inside they found themselves in a small foyer with a man sitting at a desk by the door reading the local paper.

"Bonjour monsieur," said Lucy, bobbing a small curtsey to the man. Flynn came up behind her and offered a shallow bow; courtesy to the proprietor of a shop or inn was an integral part of French culture.

The man folded his paper and stood up. "How can I help you?" he asked, looking them over noting their travel worn appearance, the hole in Flynn's coat shoulder, and Lucy's disheveled hair.

"We are visiting your fine town and need lodging for two evenings." Flynn, catching that look, jingled the coins in his coat pocket.

The man's face cleared. "Ah, bien sur. I have a room for you. It is small, but I think you will not mind. It is clean and has it's own fireplace." He sat down and opened a drawer full of keys.

Flynn smiled, "We are grateful. Is there someplace that we can bathe? We have traveled some distance and would like to wash off the dust of the road."

The proprietor looked up from sorting keys, "Hmm? Oh yes. We have a small bathhouse. It'll cost you extra. Together?" he asked, taking a good look at Lucy, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Lucy blushed and moved off pretending to inspect a painting on the wall.

Flynn stepped forward smiling slightly and bent so only the man could hear him. "We are newly married and she is… well… shy. I think separate baths would be easier." he finished and started to count out money.

"So long as she isn't shy in bed!" the proprietor whispered with a grin. "She is very pretty. You are a lucky man." he said with a wink.

Flynn stared at the man, his expression deadpan and his eyes cold, then broke into an easy smile and handed the proprietor the fee. "I am lucky."

Nodding apprehensively at Flynn the man called out for his own wife. "I hope you enjoy your stay monsieur. I'll have the maid ready the bathhouse."

A bustling, red faced woman came into the room. The man stood, gave his wife a buss on the cheek and handed over the key. Swatting at him good-naturedly she then turned to them, "This way." and she led the way to the stairs. Still watching Flynn, the man sat back down at the desk and made a show of unfolding his paper.

****

Their room was at the top of a well lit flight of stairs. The room was small and nicely kept and had been aired out recently. The inn they had chosen must do a brisk business. The goodwife kept up a steady flow of chatter as she lit the already laid fire in the hearth, took a taper and lit the oil lamp on the table, and opened the curtains to show them the view of the town in the setting sun. After informing them that she's send a maid for them shortly she bustled out of the room closing the door behind her.

Lucy turned from the closed door, a bemused look on her face. "She certainly had a lot to say."

"Indeed." Flynn said tersely, still irritated with the proprietor's comment. He went to the door and checked the lock on it. Satisfied with it he turned to look at the rest of the room.

The room was large by the day's standards but smaller than the average bedroom in their own century. A double bed made up with a colorful quilt and plump pillows was against one wall with a small nightstand holding an unlit candle in a pewter holder sat on it. Along one wall were a number of hooks for patron's clothing and gear. The window had heavy lace curtains that had been drawn back to show the view and under the window was a petit round table with two chairs. A worn wing chair sat in front of the diminutive fireplace that now had a cheery blaze going in it. Lucy set her basket down on the bed next to the cloak bundle Flynn had placed there when they walked in.

"Tonight I'll take the chair." Flynn said as he sat down in front of the fire.

"I should. I'm smaller. It'll be more comfortable for you on the bed."

He looked over at her and smiled slightly. "No, you'll take the bed and that's the end of that discussion." He turned back to gaze at the fire.

Lucy shrugged, unfolded her cloak, and began dividing their new clothing into two piles. Once done she wandered over to the window and looked out at the town being painted in shades of pinks, oranges, and red. "It really is beautiful here," she mused.

"It is, and will be in our own time."

"That's right, you mentioned you had been here before." she responded. She turned and looked to where he still sat, his back to her, "So, do you know of any good places to eat?" she joked. She could see that Flynn was starting to withdraw again and didn't want to spend the next 48 hours in tense silence.

She could hear him snort. "Well, let me think…. No, I guess I'll ask the proprietor where he recommends other than here. I'm sure you'd like to see more of the town although I hope you don't feel like anything exotic. I doubt they'll be any Chinese or Mexican places around." he said dryly.

At least he was trying, she thought. She thought about what other innocuous topics she could bring up when a knock sounded at the door. With cat-like reflexes Flynn was at the door opening it but with his gun in hand behind him. "Oui?"

A maid in an starched apron stood in the hall ready to guide them down to the bathhouse. "Un moment, s'il vous plait." he said.

Flynn closed the door and reholstered his gun. At Lucy's raised eyebrow he shrugged, "You can never be too careful." he said quietly, as he picked up his clothing and ushered Lucy to the door.

****

Later Lucy sat in front of the fireplace combing her still damp hair into some semblance of order. She had come back to an empty room and allowed her thoughts to wander. It felt so good to be clean and in clean clothing. While the clothing was worn at least she looked respectable and a little more in fashion for the area. After so many months of time traveling she had come to learn that being noticed was never a good thing.

She was so confused over everything that had transpired in the last few days. She felt like she had gone from one harrowing experience to another. From meeting George Washington, to teaming up with Flynn, to pretending to be traitors to befriend Benedict Arnold, and then the whole episode with David Rittenhouse. She shuddered at the thought of him and his plans for her. Secretly, she was glad that Flynn had shot him. Rittenhouse had been an evil little man.

As she continued to gaze into the fire her thoughts turned to her show-down with Flynn over John Rittenhouse and as she worked the knots from her hair she recalled the look on Flynn's face, the sound of his voice. He had been almost… deranged. She had been almost certain that he had been ready to shoot her to get to John. And yet he hadn't. And that confused her even more. She thought there was nothing he wouldn't do to return his wife and child to him.

Of course, then they discovered that John had run off and that had led to Flynn kidnapping her. She absently rubbed her wrist where he had grasped her so tightly and pulled her along. She had been like a rag doll to him. In the fading light she noted the bruises that had formed.

The ring on her finger glinted in the firelight. She took a moment to really look at the band. It was yellow gold and perfectly proportioned for her small hand. She took it off and looked inside in. There was an inscription. She leaned closer to the light, squinting to read what was engraved. 'Semper Fidelis'. She slipped the ring back on and sat back into the chair. She thought about the love that inspired such devotion as 'Always Faithful'. Sighing she sat back and closed her eyes, trying to maintain calm; trying to figure out what to do about her predicament and how to handle this terrorist turned ally turned kidnapper.

****

When Flynn entered the room a short time later he saw Lucy asleep in the chair, the fading firelight casting a rosy glow to her skin. He quietly closed the door and stood there for a moment to drink the sight in.

She is so beautiful, just as the others had been. How am I going to explain this all to her? Will she believe me? If she does, will she stay? We can't protect her if she goes back to Mason but we may have no choice. If she stays, Rittenhouse will suspect she's switching sides and they'll have their in-house spy kill her off. At least Flynn was certain of who among his men the Rittenhouse spy was. That was why he had made the spy 'his man' in an effort to keep him close and to feed him disinformation. If he kept spouting off his crazed manifesto of getting his wife back it kept the spy from digging deeper and seeing the larger organization behind the front that Flynn was charged with keeping up. Flynn knew that no matter what he changed in history his wife and child were never coming back to him and that certainty tortured him on a daily basis. But it also made him want to fight back. When he was approached, Flynn had readily agreed to become the organization's poster boy, their front man, in their last ditch effort to divert and stop Rittenhouse for good.

The floor creaked as he shifted his weight and Lucy awoke. She caught sight of him standing by the door and was startled for a moment and then sat up embarrassed.

"Sorry, I must have dozed off."

He shrugged, "You've had a busy day." He came towards her and pulled a small cloth wrapped bundle from his coat pocket. "Here, I went out. I thought these might look nice on you."

She took the bundle from him and unwrapped it. In it lay a delicate pair of earrings in a chevron pattern. She was pleasantly surprised and a bit taken back. "Thank you." she said not wanting to look up as her face warmed slightly. She laid the earrings in her lap as she finished with her hair, pinning it into a quick French twist. She put the earrings on and stood up. "Ready when you are. Did you find us any dinner options? I'm not sure I want to eat here with Monsieur Suggestive Remarks around."

Flynn walked over to the window and looked out. "I did. He recommended several restaurants close by. One is on the water, if you're interested." he said. "But I need your help with something before we leave." He turned around and shrugged out of his coat and started to unbutton his shirt.

Lucy's eyes widened. "Help with what?"

He grimaced as he gingerly removed his shirt and turned his left side towards her. Seeing the disconcerted look on her face he said, "That hole in my coat wasn't merely decorative. One of Rittenhouse's thugs actually winged me. It's stopped bleeding but I'd like something over it in-case I get bumped and it bleeds again."

Composing herself Lucy hesitantly came over to him to look at the shallow wound. "Um. Of course. Do you have a bandage?"

Reaching into his coat pocket he took a strip of fabric he held it out to her. "I tried to tie it myself in the bath house but I couldn't get it on tightly." He gazed out the window, studiously not looking at her. He tried to focus on the city outside and not on her nearness. He swallowed convulsively and tried to rein in his wandering thoughts. He felt her warm breath on his skin as she leaned in to look at the wound on his shoulder. He gave up any pretense of keeping his thoughts in line and prayed that she would finish quickly.

Lucy took the strip of cloth. "OK. Sure." she said as she began to wrap the bandage around his upper arm trying not to touch him unnecessarily. As he did she was hyper conscious of how near she was to him, how he smelled of soap mixed with maleness. She tried not to focus on how muscular he was, the trail of dark chest hair, or how his skin seemed to burn her finger tips where they brushed against his arm.

"Done." she said, stepping back quickly. She turned back to the fire and concentrated on breathing slowly, once again annoyed with her body's responses to him.

Flynn watched her cross back to the fire as he pulled his shirt back on. He inhaled deeply through his nose and centered himself, closing his eyes and trying to empty his roving thoughts. He shrugged back into his coat. "Ready?"

Lucy turned, her face faintly flushed as she reached for her cloak, not meeting his eyes. "Yup. Lead on."

He took her cloak from her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. Opening the door he ushered her out before closing and locking the door. "Shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

In the clear morning light Lucy stood in front of a clock maker's display window and watched the pendulums swing back and forth on their ornate time pieces. Refocusing on her reflection in the glass she looked at the woman before her and wondered what the day would bring. She was rested, was clean, was fed, but anxiety was still clearly etched across her pale features. After an interesting evening where she and Flynn had both grown talkative and put aside their differences, Flynn had awoken taciturn from a night spent tossing and turning in the chair by the fire. She knew he had been restless since she had spent most of the night herself awake wondering what Flynn was going to share with her once the sun rose. She had pondered whether or not Amy still existed somewhere, somehow, although she had her doubts. She had tried to fathom why Rittenhouse would want her dead. In her head she played back Anthony's words and wondered why she was so important both to Flynn and this mysterious group that both he and Anthony belonged to. Movement on the glass in front of her caught her eye and she watched the reflection of Garcia Flynn at the book and newspaper seller as he looked over the papers the man had to offer. Following his movements her mind drifted back to last night.

****

Dinner had started off as strained inane conversation followed by periods of equally strained silence. As the meal had progressed, they worked their way through several courses and two bottles of strong local wine. It seemed that each of them was finding solace from their mutual situation in the bottom of their wine glasses. The waiters had been attentive and made sure those glasses were never empty for long. Conversation had become easier, and as more wine was brought they relaxed and grew to know more about each other as people and not as opposing sides of a strange war. While some facts about the other were common place, such as favorite color and whether coffee or tea was preferred, others were more personal. Flynn seemed amused by Lucy's guilty pleasure of British boy bands and Lucy had been surprised at Flynn's secret love of science-fiction novels.

Lucy was taken aback, setting down her glass to really look at him across the table in the dim lamplight. "I thought you wanted to be a cowboy when you grew up!"

"Yes, for a time. And then I discovered Star Trek reruns and I decided I wanted to be an astronaut." he said, his eyes crinkling up as a genuine smile lit his face.

As dessert was brought and they continued to converse Lucy was struck by how normal this all felt to her. That if she closed her eyes she could have easily imagined herself back in her own time and Garcia Flynn, wanted terrorist, was someone that her friends had fixed her up with in their on-going effort to get her out of her office and into the local dating scene. They rarely succeeded. The last dud was some guy named Noah. That had been an awkward date. She smiled down at her plate, blushing; if they had tried with Flynn, she might have taken the bait. She had to admit that he was charming and under different circumstances she would have found him very attractive with his green eyes, dark hair, and tall athletic build. However as she got to know him she realized that he was also intelligent, thoughtful, and when he relaxed, had a sense of humor.

****  
She brought her mind back to the present. But no matter how charming I may find him at this moment, he still kidnapped me, she thought. He is still a killer and has been disrupting history right and left. She sighed and refocused her eyes on the swinging pendulums of the clocks before her.

****

Flynn stared at the various newspapers available to him, surprised that the seller in a mountain town had more than one variety. Some were older copies from larger cities such as Paris, Milan, and Vienna, and at least a month old. Not really seeing them his mind wandered back to the strained breakfast they had this morning and its contrast to last night's dinner. Dinner made all too plain to him how easily he could slip back into being part of a couple and that had no part in his plans against Rittenhouse nor for himself personally.

****  
Flynn covertly looked at Lucy as she finished her dessert. Dinner had started rough but over the course of the meal they had started to form a rapport. He had always found her easy to talk to. He found himself smiling more, revealing things about himself that he had forgotten, even laughing at her bad jokes. She had always been able to make him laugh and the previous Lucys had gone out of their way to tell him corny jokes just to see him smile. In turn, he found out more about this Lucy and her life. Some of the differences between this Lucy and the others surprised him, although she still loved that awful Eighties music. The whole experience was warm, and comfortable, and strange all at the same time. Dinner had been like slipping into a favorite pair of worn shoes that had just been unearthed after years of being in the back of the closet. It felt too good, and that feeling was letting loose too many memories best left in the past.

****

The news seller coughed and he came back to the present. Seeing that he was holding the Paris paper he quickly folded it in half and paid the man. This one would do just as well as the others; he really didn't care about reading the news - it was all old to him anyhow. He just needed a prop for their walk in the park. He needed something to read while Lucy finally read 'her' journal. It was time.

Glancing over to where Lucy stood before the clockmaker's store front he had to remind himself that she was not like the Lucys from before. They had all been subtly different. His solemn expression turned sad. He realized when they met at the Hindenburg that there was very little chance of this Lucy ever really becoming his friend. He had done too much. He was too different and too damaged now. When she learned the truth about him, about Rittenhouse, about his organization, and about herself, she could very well not want anything to do with any of it. He wouldn't; if he had a choice. He saw her face grow grave at some thought and knew it was time to get the day, and the explanations, moving. Sighing, he plastered a smile back on his face and walked over to her; they were playing husband and wife after all, and he had to look the part, regardless of how much it hurt.

****

Shaking herself out of her reverie she saw Flynn make his selection and pay the seller. Folding the newspaper under his arm he crossed the street to her side.

"See anything interesting?" he asked, indicating the clocks in the window. He was trying, but his tone was tense.

"No… yes, they're interesting, but no. I was just thinking." she glanced up at his profile. He hadn't shaved this morning and she found it oddly attractive.

"You look good with a bit of scruff." Had that really come out of her mouth? She turned back to the window to study the clocks hoping he wouldn't notice the flush creeping across her cheeks.

He reached up and felt his jaw line, surprised, yet somehow pleased, she had noticed. "I didn't think a straight razor today was a good idea." he said dryly. He glanced over to see her still studying the clocks before her and noticed the slight flush on her face. His smile became more genuine as he extended his arm to her, "Shall we start the day?"

Smiling faintly, she took the offered arm and they strolled off towards the waterfront and the park. For a time they walked in strained silence. He really didn't want to have to go through with this; he knew her world would be shattered by the end of the day.

Gathering his courage he started. "I apologize about breakfast being so quiet. I was still trying to figure out how to begin this little discussion. Also, I waited till now to say anything to you because I didn't want to be overheard." he said, as they strolled down the street leading to the lakeside.

"OK. So now can you tell me about the other Lucys and can you tell me if there's a chance Amy still exists somewhere?" she asked in a breathless rush. Breakfast had been strained and Lucy had been longing to ask him about her sister since they both awoke.

"I can, and I know you want to know that information now, but let me start at a different part of the story so it all makes more sense." he responded. He was relieved when she nodded. Starting with her sister would be a bad idea.

"Rittenhouse, the organization, was founded by David Rittenhouse as you already know. Even though I shot him, I believe he was right that his organization will live beyond him. In my original timeline, in fact all the timelines so far, Rittenhouse has grown to be a vast underground organization bent on world domination through the subtle manipulation of events around them. They always work from the shadows until now. Never overtly. However, they have had a hand in most of the horrible events that have occurred in Western history."

Although his gaze was fixed on the street in front of them, his peripheral vision caught her nod of understanding. He continued, turning them into the waterfront park.

"Rittenhouse has had a direct hand in things like the Armenian Genocide of the early 20th century, the Trail of Tears in America, the conquest of Hawa'ii, the slave trade from Africa during America's colonial period, the 9-11 bombings, and the assassination of King Ferdinand of Belgium kicking off World War I, just to name a few."

"What about World War II?" she asked quietly as they passed a knot of people chatting by the park entrance.

Flynn nodded to them and once they were pass he continued, "Hmm? Oh, they were completely responsible for World War I, but not the second World War. There is evil enough in the world without them. Sometimes they just take advantage of that evil and exacerbate it. For example, they placed people close to Hitler; they encouraged him to go after more than just the Jews, the sympathetic, the Gypsies, the Armenians. They had people close to Lenin and Stalin also. Rittenhouse helped to erect the Iron Curtain."

Lucy nodded again. "OK. So Rittenhouse is completely evil. Got it."

"Through it all, their organization has had chroniclers… historians - if you will, who have recorded their story and then analyzed it to see how Rittenhouse's cause could have been furthered in the past. When leadership saw a clear pattern they started to look to how they could improve upon their present course."

"I think I see where this is going."

"Do you? Yes, well, you are now quite familiar with Conner Mason and his little pet project. With Rittenhouse funding, through shell corporations, they were now going to be able to go back in time and accomplish their mission sooner. Change the past so that the present can be altered. That's what they set out to do."

"I understand. But what does that have to do with me?" Lucy glanced up at him.

"I know that your mother has finally told you about your biological father." he said carefully, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"Yes, a man named Benjamin Cahill." Lucy looked confused.

Flynn paused, wet his lips and searched for the right words. "He is this generation's direct descendant of the charming David Rittenhouse…. And you are Benjamin Cahill's eldest child."

"What?" she exclaimed. Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, turning to stare at him open-mouthed. Others on the walkway stopped to stare at them.

Flynn glanced around quickly at the people nearby. Smiling down at her through clenched teeth he said for the passersbys, "I told you that we'd have to cut our vacation short, dear." Lucy's eyes were wide with shock and her face was rapidly losing its color. He put his arm around her afraid she might faint.

Propelling her forward on the walk he nodded casually to an elderly couple passing them in the opposite direction. Once out of earshot he continued, "Your mother, a very adept historian in her own right, had been specially selected by Mr. Cahill in an effort to supply Rittenhouse with another historian. You have to admit that with your passion for history, you see right behind the facts to the underlying story within. That is what they are after. Another historian." He sighed and his hand covered hers where it lay on his arm. "Your mother was a very convenient brood mare." he finished gently, trying to take the sting from his blunt words.

"But how.. .why… ?"

"Let me finish explaining and hopefully this will all be clear. When Anthony and I started traveling back in time to chip away at Rittenhouse we discovered that when certain things were changed, when certain people lived or died, the present we came home to had been altered. I know you noticed that after the Hindenburg..." he trailed off, not wanting to bring up the subject of her sister again until later.

"I have." she murmured, thinking of Amy.

"Most of the things that changed were inconsequential to us. You were one thing that was not. I'm sure there were other things changed… but you were what mattered to m-, to us, to our organization." He hoped that she didn't notice his gaff.

Lucy walked beside him in stunned silence, her grip on his arm tight. He continued, "In my original time line, your parents married. You… I mean Lucy One, worked as House Historian for Rittenhouse. She never really knew what they were. She thought they were some sort of world wide charitable organization…. Like the Masons, the Salvation Army, or the Knights of Columbus." He paused and cleared his throat, "She inadvertently let something slip outside of Rittenhouse, and was killed for it." He cleared his throat, "Not just her, but her family. Killed." he finished, his voice low and harsh.

They walked on for a time. Flynn didn't speak, giving Lucy time to digest. Although he himself needed time to regain control of himself.

After a time he spoke again, "When we came back from one particular trip we found Lucy alive, but working as a double agent, already inserted into our organization busy helping us. That was Lucy Two. In that timeline both sides had the time machine and she was busy compiling the journal I now have."

"But how?" Lucy asked, her voice strained, "How could history change so much?"

"Imagine time as one large tapestry. Imagine that tapestry made of millions of threads, millions of people. Each person makes millions of choices that effect those touching him. If I go back in time and cut short one thread, that person can't make their choices that affect other people's choices, and so on… until you reach the present. And the present is then different from what you remember." He glanced over at Lucy. She clung to his arm as if he were the only thing solid in her world. He realized that he probably was at the moment although he knew he was certainly not her choice of solid rocks.

They strolled a little further before he spoke again. "Lucy Two was killed in the past on a mission. Before she was killed, she took out other key members of Rittenhouse. She was trying to undo the damage that Rittenhouse was wreaking upon history. Things had already started to change drastically. The last thing she did was give me her journal. It chronicled all the changes that she personally had wrought and some changes she thought would be necessary. When we came back to the present, everything had changed again, but not all of it was for the better." He sighed in frustration remembering the chaos of that time and how many jumps he and Anthony had had to make to rectify the damage Rittenhouse was inflicting.

By this time they had walked to the end of the park and they stood by the water's edge for a moment. The sunlight glinted on the lake. In the distance a boat could be seen bobbing on the water. Birds called out to each other in the trees overhead. He collected his thoughts and said, "Those people we had killed ended up being meaningless. Rittenhouse hadn't changed and while Lucy was once again alive, she had no knowledge of Rittenhouse, of our organization, of anything. Her parents had never married. In fact, her mother had never told Cahill of the pregnancy. Lucy was happy, although somewhat estranged from her mother, working at Stamford as a History teacher. Modern Rittenhouse discovered her existence and knowing that it was too late to bring her into their midst, they staged her death… car accident. That was Lucy Three." He turned from the water and lead them over to a secluded bench.

Lucy sat down in a daze. "I had a car accident. I lived."

"You did; remember every action in the past affects the present. Some of the events of your life have been the same for all of the Lucys. Your parents have never, could never, change. Some of the choices you made have been the same choices the other Lucys have made. Wasn't your car accident because of an argument you had with your mother?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"She didn't want me taking the job at Stamford." she said quietly, obviously lost in thought. Flynn nodded to a governess as she trailed behind two young boys running by. He turned to look at Lucy. Her face was troubled and she stared at her hands in her lap, absently twisting the ring on her finger. Flynn noticed the gesture and closed his eyes in pain. Things, like mannerisms and speech patterns, were the same through all the Lucys. The closer he drew to this Lucy the more those little things had become increasingly hard for him to cope with. He opened his eyes when she spoke.

"I don't remember how I lived through that. When I regained consciousness the EMTs told me I had been pulled from the water by a good Samaritan. He left the scene without giving his name."

"That was me. Anthony made sure that I was there this time."

"You?" She turned and looked at him, eyes wide.

He paused, and looked at his own hands, and choosing his next words carefully, "Our organization didn't want you dieing again. You really are too valuable to both sides."

"The EMTs said I had… died. The… the Samaratin was giving me chest compressions when they arrived on the scene." she said, her mind going back to that day, struggling to remember the sequence of events.

Flynn stared out at the water again reliving that awful moment. Her 'accident' had been so emotionally draining for him….he had struggled to get her out of the water and she had been cold, wet, and lifeless in his arms. Through the minutes of chest compressions he had been certain another Lucy would die in his arms. And then leaving her, like that, when the EMTs finally arrived. Anthony had taken one look at him and hopped the mother-ship to a far off location, dragging him into the closest bar he could find. He didn't look at her, not wanting to see whatever was in her eyes, not wanting her to see what was in his.

Flynn found his voice, "I did. Like I said, you're valuable to both sides. You see patterns. We need to know where, and how, to snip those threads to do away with Rittenhouse once and for all."

For a time they sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts as the sun moved slowly across the sky. As a breeze picked up, making the water dance before them, Lucy spoke, "So if events change and alter each time these threads are cut… what does that mean for Amy?" she turned and faced him, her face earnest. "Can we alter things so that she exists again?" she asked, coming back to the question that had plagued her since landing here in 18th century France.

Flynn looked at the hope in her eyes. He sighed and picked up her hand where it sat in her lap.

"No."

"But you said-" she started angrily, yanking her hand away.

He talked over her, desperate for her to understand, anger at his inability to play God leaking into his voice. "I know what I said, but despite my best efforts, I can't change other people's choices. Your mother chose to marry your father twice. Twice she didn't. Once she stayed single, once she married your step-father. In fact, your name hasn't even been Lucy through all this. Last time your name was Lucille."

"That was my grandmother's name." Lucy replied, tears forming in her eyes. "So there's no way to bring Amy back?" she asked desperately.

"She's not coming back." he replied flatly, his jaw muscles jumping. He stared out at the water.

Lucy's face clouded, "But you keep saying you're trying to bring your wife…" she trailed off, a stray thought crossing her face. Her eyes refocused on his profile and she continued, "You keep saying your family will come back." She stared at him angrily despite tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "Why do you keep saying this if it's not true." she hissed quietly as a gentleman strolled past. She turned her face away to hide her tears.

Flynn nodded to the man as if they were just a couple enjoying the sunshine on a late summer day. The man tipped his hat and continued past. Flynn's eyes stayed on the man.

"When you kept talking about your family… I believed you. I believed I could get Amy back." her voice broke. After a moment she whispered, "Why? Why would you say that?"

He sighed deeply, "Because of the Rittenhouse spy." he replied, just as quietly.

"Who?", she sniffed.

He glanced back over at her to see if she was angry or in tears. Anger he could handle. Her tears, well, those he had never been able to handle. He took out a handkerchief and handed it to her. The gesture brought a watery smile to her face.

"Who carries a handkerchief anymore?" she asks as she wipes her face.

A small smile crosses his face but never makes it to his eyes, "I do. You don't see many disposable ones floating around in the late 18th century, do you Professor?"

He shifted back towards her on the bench, his arm extending along the seat back between them.

"So, the spy?" she asked again.

"That dufus I keep dragging around through time." At Lucy's look of confusion he elaborated, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" As she nodded her comprehension he continued, "We've known that Rittenhouse inserted a spy amongst our ranks a while ago. We never exposed him so that Rittenhouse wouldn't send another. I've made him my 'right hand man', my 'Wyatt', if you will."

"Wyatt's not 'my man'" she scoffed as she wiped the last tear from her face. She looked down at her hands and twisted the ring on her finger again.

"No?" he responded, "You could have fooled me."

At her lack of response he continued, "Rittenhouse has a spy within our organization, and I didn't know if I could trust this you yet. One of the first rules of a good operative is disinformation. That's why I hadn't told you anything yet. I wanted to know if I could trust you."

"And do you?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his face.

"I don't have a choice in the matter any longer. Anthony made sure of that." he said, evading both the question and her gaze.

"No, you made sure of that when you decided to kidnap me." she said pointedly.

"Not one of my finer moments," he agreed, tired of fighting over that issue.

"So what happens now?" she asked, her voice flat and hopeless sounding. "I'll never get my sister back." She looked at his profile. His eyes were sad. "You won't ever get your family back." She leaned back and closed her eyes, "Why are we even bothering with any of this?" she asked rhetorically.

"Because Rittenhouse has played puppet master too long. Because they took my life from me and I have no other reason to exist. Because… soon, in some fashion, they'll take your life. Because what they're doing… to humanity… it's not right and you know it."

Lucy didn't answer for a time, her eyes thoughtful as she worked something out. "How do I even know that anything you're telling me is the truth? How do I know that you aren't lying?"

He snorted derisively, shrugging. "You don't. The government, Rittenhouse, has seen to it that my name has been discredited." He pulled something out of one of his coat pockets. "I have proof. Your journal."

"Which could be a fake." she retorted.

"You'll see that it's not once you read it. It's all you." After a pause, "And I have documents, photos." he added reluctantly, patting the other coat pocket that held the leather wallet Anthony had given him. Lucy had noted that the wallet hadn't left his side since leaving the mother-ship. "… I'll show you back in the room."

At her raised eyebrow, he added dryly, "Flashing photos in public at the end of the 18th century wouldn't be prudent."

He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "I thought you might want to read your book in nicer surroundings." he said as he handed it to her. At her look of incredulity he added, "It makes no difference now… Whether you trust me or not. Your life is in danger. You might as well know everything that Lucy Two knew."

As Lucy took the book and opened it he settled himself against the bench's backrest, unfolded his newspaper, and pretended to read. He knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything but the woman beside him. He knew that she was having difficulty believing him, but would she believe herself?

****

A long hour later she closed the journal and looked up. Her movements roused him. He had been staring off across the lake remembering the first time he had been here.

"It's missing pages." Her voice was unemotional.

"I ripped out the last four pages. You can see them back in the room." he responded, not taking his gaze off the view.

"Why?" she asked, turning to him and handing him the journal.

"Why did I rip them out or why see them back in the room?" he prevaricated, not really wanting to answer either question.

"Both", she said pointedly.

He sighed as he stood and pocketed the journal. "Those pages are lists of people you, or Lucy Two, had in her life that she believed to be Rittenhouse. Some of those people exist in your life today. I thought you might not want to learn that information out here," he said, indicating the lakeside park and the world in general, "I thought you might want some privacy."

"That information can't be any more…." she searched for a word, "distressing, then what I've already learned." she said, rising to join him.

He shrugged, "Let me be the judge of that." He started to walk back towards the entrance of the park. "Why don't we find lunch and then go back to the room. I promise I'll tell you the rest of the story then."

She scoffed, but didn't argue the point with him. As he promised yesterday he had been forthcoming with what he perceived to be the truth. She wasn't going to push him. She was still unsure of the truth - of reality, even after reading what was supposed to be her own words. Well, not her words precisely, but her words nonetheless. The journal had been convincing, but she still wanted to see the rest of the information, the photos, the documents, that Flynn had with him. She wondered what more Flynn could possibly reveal and how bad it could possibly be. From his demeanor, the rest of her day wouldn't be any more pleasant than the morning. Knowing Rittenhouse, she was sure that the rest of the news would be bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get extra points if you caught my reference to the wonderful story, "In Another Lifetime..." by Writingramblr. While not a direct spot of plagiarism, their story inspired my plot point regarding Lucy's car accident.


	5. Chapter 5

"So what's in the wallet, exactly?" Lucy asks as they reenter their room.

At the lake he said something about photos and she was more than ready to learn the rest of the truth even if Flynn seemed reluctant to share. Instead of coming straight back from the park he had insisted on walking her all over the city pointing out the sights, almost as if he were an amateur tour guide. While out they had eaten both lunch and dinner, with Flynn refusing to speak about Rittenhouse in any way, shape, or form. It was almost dark before she could get Flynn turned back towards their lodging. Even then he had stopped and purchased several bottles of wine to bring back with them to the room. Apparently he thought that whatever truth he had left to share would be more than Lucy could handle without having a drink or three to soften the blow.

Flynn locked the door and started the fire before responding. "Proof."

I guess I am going to have to drag it out of him, she thought. "What kind?"

Finishing up with the fire, he stood and brushed off his hands. Walking over to the table and he pulled out a chair for her. "You'll see. Here, sit down." he said quietly.

As Lucy sat down, he took a moment to light the lamp on the table. He closed the window against the chilly night air and closed the curtains. Did he think someone was going to be able to see whatever it was he had to show her?

Slowly he pulled out the wallet from an inside coat pocket. It was leather, and long like a sheet of paper folded in half. Unfastening the flap he pulled out a thick stack of papers and photos. Slowly, reluctantly, he laid out the photos and documents in piles, dealing them like they were cards. Lucy sat at the table and stared at them, her hands in her lap, but her eyes raking over them trying to catch details before each item was covered in turn by yet another photo or piece of paper. He dealt out the last two papers, placing one over the far pile, keeping back the other, and then rearranged the piles in front of her.

"Work from left to right. They go from most recent to oldest." he said tersely, "You, Lucy Three, Two, One." he said pointing to each pile in turn. "This pile contains the last pages from your journal." he said, indicating a fifth pile furthest from her. Turning away, he took the paper he had kept back and one of the bottles of wine over to the fire.

She could hear him flop down into the chair and the cork coming out of the bottle.

"Are you going to drink that all yourself?" she asked, eyeing the pile before her as if it were a live snake.

"Yes. And maybe the second one. The third bottle is for you, if you want it." he replied wearily. She could hear wine being poured into a glass.

"I didn't realize that alcohol was going to be needed to process… this." Now that she had everything in front of her she was unsure if she really wanted to know the full truth. Sometimes ignorance could be bliss. She heard him unfold the paper he had taken with him.

He sighed deeply, "I never thought I'd have to have this conversation with you… ever." She heard him gulp, and then pour more wine. "Don't worry, I'll be sober enough to answer any questions you might have. At least for the next hour." He chuckled but it was full of self-loathing, "You'd better get started."

Lucy sighed and hesitantly took up the top item in the front pile. It was a copy of her birth certificate. Under it were photos chronicling her life, some she recognized as photos her mother or father, step-father she now knew, had taken, some were obviously surveillance photos. She wondered how Flynn and his organization had come by them. Sifting through the surveillance photos she shivered as she realized that they were from as far back as Kindergarten. At the bottom of the pile were other documents, like copies of her high school and college diplomas and driver's license. She shuffled the papers back together into a neat pile.

That wasn't so bad, she thought. Although she had been unsettled at the surveillance photos and what that implied.

Shaking off her unease she pulled the next pile of papers to her. This was Lucy Three. Picking up the birth certificate on top she read the names. Her parents were still the same, mom and her step-dad, but her mother had named her Lucille. It had been her maternal grandmother's name. Quickly she set it aside and flipped through the photos. They were very much in keeping with those from the first pile. There were differences, of course, such as locations, clothing, and hair styles, but all were obviously from her life: her life, if she had lived it slightly differently. The bottom paper was her death certificate stapled to a police report detailing her car accident. There were accompanying photos. She held the paper closer to the lamp light.

"Did the police ever discover who ran me… I mean, Lucille, off the road?" she asked, trying for detachment.

She heard him swallow. "No, but we did."

"Who?"

"The same person who ordered the hit on the original Lucy… the same person who'll end up killing you if you don't start working **with** Rittenhouse instead of **against** them." He bit out the words, anger making his voice sharp. "Just read the rest of the papers. It'll all become clear."

She stopped and opened the bottle of wine left on the table. Flynn snorted as he heard her pull out the cork. "I think you were right. I may want a drink." Lucy said, her voice trembling slightly. Flynn made no reply.

Lucy set the paper on the pile and rearranged the piles bringing the last three closer to her. She started in on the next pile. It was topped with yet another birth certificate. The differences this time were the location of her birth, her biological father was listed, and her name. "This time they named me Lorena." she mused, the name ringing a bell for some reason.

"Your paternal great grandmother's name." Flynn replied, as if she had actually asked him.

There was more to this pile, more photos, more documents, some written in her own handwriting. The papers Lorena, or Lucy Two as Flynn dubbed her, wrote were diary-like in nature detailing her time with Rittenhouse, her discovery of their true cause, her defection, and then her time with Flynn's organization. It took her some time to read it all and it left her reeling. Lorena had been quite the double agent. She also had a lot to say about Flynn and how she had depended on, and trusted, him.

"Have you read all the things that Lucy Two… Lorena… wrote about you?" she asked, her eyes scanning the photos in front of her.

It was a long moment before he quietly replied, "Yes. I've read every word you- that she, ever wrote. I don't deserve half of what she said."

"She obviously thought you did." The only response was Flynn pouring himself more wine. The fire snapped and popped.

Lucy shuffled the pile back together and set it aside. She pulled another pile towards her and once again a birth certificate lay on top. "Hmmm… Lorena again." Why was that name familiar to her?

"I think your father must have insisted, although it's obvious that both your parents preferred 'L' names." Had he slurred the last words?

She started to flip through the photos. There were no surveillance photos in this pile. There were differences in her childhood photos also. Her biological father figured prominently in many of them, just like with Lucy Two. Several were family photos, with both her father and her mother in them. Reaching down she lifted the next photo to the lamp light. Her own face smiled back at her, as did that of a little girl. Lucy gasped, "She's so beautiful." She knew that Lorena, Lucy One, had had a family, a child. She didn't realize that it had been a little girl.

"She was. Just like her mother." Flynn gently replied. There was no slurring now. Just bone weariness.

"I never saw myself having children… I wonder what she was like?"

"She was everything." he groaned, sounding as if he were in pain.

At that, Lucy turned to look at him, puzzled. All she could see was the back of the wing chair and his head over the top of it. Lucy figured that Flynn must be drunk by now. There was no way for him to know what Lucy One's… Lorena's daughter had been like. "Are you o.k.?" she asked.

"Fine." was his terse reply. "Just finish this, _please_."

She shrugged and went back to the pile of papers before her. "Is there a photo in here of Lorena's family? A marriage certificate?"

"Keep looking." This time his response was tense. What was going on with him?

Lucy sifted through the diplomas and remaining photos to find one with a man in it. Unclipping it from the attached paper she held it to the light. Looking closely she found a happy family staring back at her.

"Oh. My. God!"

Her hands shook as she looked at the paper it had been attached to. It was a marriage certificate.

"So now you know."

Dropping the photo and the paper on the table she got up, her knees weak, and went over to Flynn by the fire. She looked down at him, his head back against the high back of the wing-back chair, eyes damp, he looked up at her. He thrust the paper he had taken with him at her and turned abruptly and poured himself the last of the wine.

Lucy looked at what he had given her. It was a child's drawing of a house, flowers and bushes on one side, her family lined up beside it on the other. Labeled in a child's scrawl… Mommy. Me. Daddy. The mommy had black hair and the daddy had green eyes. They were all holding hands and smiling in red crayon. Taped to the corner of the drawing was a lock of hair, glossy and dark.

Lucy legs started to tremble and she sank to the floor in front of the fire. "What? How? I don't… I just…" She could feel her body going into shock, she grew hot, then cold, trembling all the while.

Flynn set down his glass and pushed himself from the chair. He walked unsteadily to the table and gathered up Lucy's glass and bottle of wine. He looked down at the photo of the happy family once before flipping it over. Blowing out the lamp he made his way back to his chair and handed Lucy her glass, "Here, drink this." He took his coat from the back of the chair and spread it around her shoulders, then sat back down watching her, his eyes wary. Would she finally believe him? Would she believe the evidence before her? Would she finally believe the truth?

Lucy took a large mouthful of her wine, and then another. She pulled Flynn's coat around herself , trying to compose herself, and gazed into the fire, her eyes frightened and wild.

After some time, Flynn spoke, his voice soft and distant, "You were traveling in Europe after graduating college. Your parents surprised you with the trip. You were to start work in the _family_ _business_ after you returned." he stressed the last words, lacing them with scorn. Lucy turned to look at him. He took a sip of his own wine and then returned to his original position, head back, eyes closed, reliving those moments in his head, sorrow clearly etched across his dark features.

"We met here, in Genève, quite by accident. We literally ran into each other. I was walking down the street, the same one we walked on earlier… the one that lead to the park. You were coming out of a store, I think it was a clock store. You were not looking where you were going." he chuckled, the lines of his facing easing momentarily as a tender look crossed his face.

He sighed before continuing on, "You were so beautiful… I asked you to coffee… and for some reason you accepted." his tone changed to one of astonishment and self-mocking. "We talked… and laughed… and in the end, spent the rest of your trip together exploring the city and getting to know each other." He smiled, his head still tipped back, eyes still closed.

Lucy poured herself more wine, the warmth of the fire and Flynn's coat eased her trembling. She watched the firelight dance across the planes of his face. He looked almost happy as he thought back to that time. A stick of wood popped, sounding like gunfire, and his expression changed swiftly back into his neutral killer mask.

He sat up and took another sip of wine. His voice was flat when he continued, his eyes empty. "We ended up marrying six months later. I don't think your family was happy about it but you left them little choice. You are… you were so headstrong." he said finally turning to look at her where she sat on the floor.

"I think your father was mollified when I joined the NSA…. Although now I realize he was probably thinking of using that connection somehow in the future." Now his voice held sardonic amusement.

Lucy was almost afraid to ask, Flynn was on edge and mercurial. But she had to know. "So what happened?"

"We were happy. We had each other. Then we had Iris." he shrugged, as if this information should have been self-evident. "We were happy." He turned back to the fire, his eyes sad, drinking again to drown the memories.

"I meant, what happened with Rittenhouse." she said gently.

"You never knew what Rittenhouse was all about until the end. Then you mentioned something over dinner one night." he laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head, "I've played that conversation back in my head hundreds of times. What you said was innocuous. There was _no way_ the average person would have made the connection. All you did was really mention their name. Rittenhouse must have had our home bugged. Two nights later they came. I held y-"' he paused and then carefully ennunciated, "I held **her** in my arms as she took her last breath, her blood… spilled out… all over me." He took a ragged breath, "Our daughter was dead by the time I got to her…. She was so cold." Flynn voice rasped out. His head sunk into his hands.

The room was silent save for the crackle of the fire and Garcia Flynn's labored breathing.

Lucy was stunned; not by the information, she knew it had to be true. It was too fantastical to be otherwise. Wasn't the old saying, "The truth is stranger than fiction." proved true over and over throughout history? She had the evidence of her own trips to the past affecting the present… of Amy… to lend credence to what Flynn had told her. The documents, the photos, the journal, could all be fake. But deep down she knew they weren't. And the child's-, no, Iris's drawing. She was stunned because it was just all so real now. Before, it had been theory and story. She had detachment. She analyzed. She saw patterns. She saw behind the story. That was who she was; it was what she did. Now she was well and truly part of it: part of history, part of this sad, sad story. Her detachment was gone and all her analyzing couldn't tell her what to do now.

"Is this why you've never hurt me?" she finally asked. In all this time of traveling, of being at odds with each other, it would have been so easy for him to kill her, to eliminate her and the road block she always presented. Yet he never had. He had made her life damned difficult at times, but he had never harmed her.

Without raising his head, he said, "I could never… the spy has asked why… I just could never…" he trailed off, his voice weak. After a long moment he asked rhetorically, "Can you imagine? Do you know what it's like? Losing the woman you love only to have her doppelganger wandering around? It was like watching her ghost… and each one of you the same… yet not." His fingers grasped at his hair as if he were mad.

She reached out a hand and tentatively laid it on Flynn's knee. Regardless of what he had become, he was a man grieving over the loss of his family. Flynn flinched as her hand made contact. She wondered when the last time was that someone touched him in any way but anger. He inhaled deeply and sat up, regaining some semblance of control although his eyes were wet. He turned his face away from her, finished the wine in his glass, and then reached for her bottle. She took it out of his shaking hands and poured for him. She poured herself a glass. Pulling her knees up and resting her head on them she looked at Flynn.

"Tell me about them."

Flynn shook his head weakly, passing off her comment.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know." she pressed gently, "Please… _Garcia_ , tell me about your little girl."

Flynn stared at her. She had never called him by his given name before. No one had, not since Lorena. Lucy held his gaze, her eyes deep and dark, until he acquiesced, turning to gaze back into the fire.

They talked long into the night about Lorena and Iris. About his life with them. Flynn… no, Garcia, she could no longer think of him any other way, even chuckled a time or two as he related Iris's childish antics. As the night wore on, the silences grew longer, until she caught Garcia nodding off. Reaching out she took the glass from his hand before he dropped it. She placed it quietly on the floor and rose. She leaned down and grasped him by the arms and tugged.

"Come on… up…" She strained against his dead weight.

He opened a bleary eye and looked at her. "Mmm fine in the chair, Lorena." he mumbled closing his eyes, drifting off.

A pang of sorrow went through her. Gritting her teeth, Lucy tugged again more forcefully, making her voice brisk and business-like, "Nope. Up mister. You're sleeping in the bed tonight." She tugged a third time and roused him. He slowly stood up, the wine making him sway on his feet. Lucy led him over to the bed and got him turned around. Gently pushing him she got him down on his back, sprawled across the bed. She tugged off his boots and covered him with the quilt. His breathing evened out and he fell into a deeper sleep.

She stood there and studied him for a moment. His face relaxed in sleep, the pain of the day, and the past, leaving his face gaunt and exhausted. She sighed and picked up Garcia's coat from the floor where she had left it. Shrugging into it she turned back to the table. She gathered up the remainder of the paper work and took the seat he had vacated. She shuffled through them, finding the papers on Lorena and Iris's deaths. A note was attached with the name of the Rittenhouse member who ordered the hit. Lucy stopped breathing, her eyes wide in shock, glad for the warmth of Garcia's coat.

Benjamin Cahill.

Lucy stared at the words until the letters danced in the firelight. She should have known. Setting down the papers about Lorena, she looked at the last stack; the pages torn from Lucy Two's journal. There were several pages consisting of lists. Confirmed Rittenhouse members, suspected members, and 'civilians' or every-day-safe-to-be-around-people. Some of the names listed were new to her and meant nothing. Apparently enough had changed from Lucy Two's timeline to her own that many of those in her life were not in Lucy's. Her eyes scanned the suspected member lists, there were several work associates, Noah the blind date, and close friends. Her eyes reached the last name on the suspected Rittenhouse list. Lucy bolted upright and bit back an exclamation. Tears welled up in her eyes.

At the bottom of the list was her mother.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Slowly, imperceptibly, the fire dies back as Lucy sits up long into the night. But if the fire could think, it would have known that its light and warmth went unheeded by the woman in the chair. Lucy had long since shed her outer dress and front lacing corset for the comfort of curling up in her shift and Garcia’s coat. She had put it back on for warmth and wrapped its larger size around her small frame for comfort. She felt small and childlike in it and for a time she felt remote from the revelations of the day. 

As she stared into the flames her brain slowly started to work its way through all that she learned that day. Lucy sniffed and wiped at a few lingering tears. After she had gotten Garcia into bed Lucy had broken down crying. Crying over her loss of Amy. Crying over the loss of a innocent child she never carried or knew. Crying over how out of control her life really was. Crying over the potential betrayal of her mother. It was all too much. Times like this made her miss Amy more than ever. Amy had always been there for Lucy. Amy had been so real, so warm, that Lucy had always been close to her growing up. Lucy pulled the coat tighter around herself and jammed her hands into the pockets. Hiccupping, she smiled as she drew out the handkerchief Garcia had offered her earlier. It was crumpled and a little damp in spots but she smoothed it out as her mind turned her jumbled thoughts over and over trying to make sense of it all.

Only glowing embers were left when Lucy came to the hard realization that she was truly alone in the world now. She did not want to accept that her mother, her ever present rock and personal cheering section, was a member of Rittenhouse. Yet at the same time she knew that it had to be true. As Lucy looked back on her life too many seemingly random things that had never made any sense, now did. They made sense if you added Rittenhouse to the mix. Her mother had been the best of agents. She raised Lucy in a warm, loving home. She had married a wonderful man, her step-father, and kept him in ignorance of her true nature for many years. She had conceived and raised Amy and loved her equally despite the fact that she was only half Rittenhouse. Her mother was a pro. Her mother was perfect. And that perfect pro had subtly and sometimes not so subtly groomed and guided Lucy for the ‘glorious future’ that she always said was awaiting her. Lucy had never understood that until now. That grooming for a nebulous glorious future was what convinced Lucy that her mother must be Rittenhouse. 

Thinking back to her childhood all the decisions that Lucy had ‘made’ had been, in fact, engineered by her mother. Very subtly, but engineered by her none the less. Lucy loved history but hadn’t really wanted to teach at the college level. Lucy had enjoyed doing the research, and had thought about writing a book or two, but she had really wanted to do something hands-on. Perhaps work for the Smithsonian, or another museum, perhaps teach younger children to love history, or even work at some sort of historical site. Those were never good enough, in her mother’s opinion, and she had been vocal in her opinions about Lucy’s life and decisions.

Lucy thought back to the elementary schooling she had received at the very exclusive, very private, school she had gone to. She realized now that her step-father could have never had afforded some place like that. It must have been Rittenhouse funding that, and perhaps the rest of her education. She thought back to the childhood birthday parties and play-dates with children she didn’t really know or get on with. Her mother was always there in the background urging her to ‘make friends’ with those children. Lucy would lay money on the fact that all those times had been for her to forge ties with other Rittenhouse offspring.

Through all the big and small turning points in her life her mother had been right there for her, with her, guiding her. Lucy had always thought that her mother had been wonderful. Lucy loved her. And now she realized that her mother had been perfect. A perfect member of Rittenhouse. And even though she loved Lucy, Rittenhouse had tainted that too.

If Lucy were returning to HER original timeline then the issue of her mother would be moot. Rittenhouse or not, her mother had been dying of cancer. There was nothing Rittenhouse could use Carol Preston for and Lucy would have Amy. They would have each other and move on. Lucy felt like she could deal with Rittenhouse if she had her sister by her side. But Lucy knew that the timeline she was returning to was irrevocably changed and Lucy would have to cope with those changes. No Amy. And a mother who was alive, well, and an active member of Rittenhouse. 

Her father being a member of Rittenhouse did not bother her nearly as much as her mother’s potential betrayal. She had never known him till recently and the fact that he was evil made him seem almost as if he were the villain in some novel. The fact that he was ruthless enough to kill his own child, his own grandchild, didn’t surprise her. Not when taken in context of how evil Rittenhouse was. She shivered as she pondered being a direct descendant of the cockroach David Rittenhouse. As she wiped the last tears away her mind turned to John Rittenhouse. Surely he was not the only child of such a man. Who was her ancestor? Another son, perhaps a daughter? 

With that final thought Lucy finally faded into sleep, her head against the upright back of the wing chair, her feet tucked up under the coat, the sky just starting to lighten and Garcia’s coat tucked around her tightly.

***

The emotions of the day and the alcohol had formed a heady combination that kept Garcia Flynn peacefully asleep for far longer than he normally would have slept. Of course, since his family’s death, he got very little sleep, no more than a few hours a night and those were always strewn with nightmares. In the early morning light he came back to consciousness. Before he opened his eyes he took stock of where he was and what was going on. He groaned quietly, his head felt heavy, and he realized that he was laying in the bed on his side. For a moment he panicked, where was Lucy? Was she in bed with him? He slid a hand behind him and came up against nothing but more bed until he hit the far edge. His eyes snapped opened, he winced, slamming them shut again. As he slowly opened his eyes he saw Lucy in the chair by the fire. She was curled up asleep, her face tight, her hand clenched around his handkerchief. As he took in the scene he saw the journal pages on the floor in front of her. As his thoughts caught up he realized that she must have finally learned the truth about both her parents. Learning about the calculated callousness of her father probably wouldn’t have upset her nearly as much as learning the terrible truth about her mother.

His eyes moved to the window and he saw the dawn just starting to illuminate the sky, tingeing the lace curtains gold. He looked once more at Lucy, dark smudges under her eyes visible from where he lay. Knowing that no-one but Anthony knew where they were, Flynn felt safe. They could stay where they were for a while longer. He sighed and allowed his body to relax again into the embrace of sleep they both desperately needed. 

***

The next time Flynn’s eyes opened the ceiling was bright with mid-morning sun. He slowly turned his head, it was less sore than before, and his eyes traveled to the chair. His body jerked upright in shock. Lucy was gone. Groaning at the sudden movement, he stood and went to the door. It was unlocked. Frantically he looked around the room. As his mind caught up with his eyes he noted that Lucy’s clothing and cloak were gone. His gun was laying on the table next to the wallet and a small piece of burnt wood. Walking over to the table he picked up his gun and reholstered it. Under it was a copy of one of Lucy’s diplomas. On the back, in crude letters written in charcoal, was a note.

“Stay here. B back soon. L.”

Growling, he paced to the door again and then back to the table. Lucy had placed all the papers and photos back into the wallet. Knowing that it would be pointless to run after Lucy, Flynn cleaned himself up at the basin, his clipped movements showing his frustration. He splashed water over his face and neck. He knew that she was most likely safe. What could happen to her here? Rittenhouse didn’t know where or when she was. But her actions frustrated him none the less. Now that she knew the truth he could stop pretending he didn’t care about her well being. One of his jobs was to protect her if he could. He snatched up the towel angrily. Not that he cared about her more than to fulfill the desires of his organization. They needed her as an ally, nothing more. At least that’s what he had been telling himself since Lucy Three turned into Lucy Four - the present Lucy. Briskly drying his face, he hung the towel and stalked back to the wing chair to wait. He moved his jacket off the seat and shrugged into it. He tried for patience, for calm, but his coat held Lucy’s scent and his brain stubbornly refused to fix on anything but her.

****

The door opened and Lucy’s voice preceded her into the room. Flynn jumped to his feet. 

“Ah, merci encore.” she said as she backed into the room, her arms laded with a tray covered in steaming food and drink. 

As she turned into the room and bumped the door closed he came over and took the tray, hissing at her so as not to be heard by the servant still in the hall, “Where were you??”

Lucy looked up at him and smiled, “Out.”

Flynn set the tray down on the table and turned back to her, “Something could have happened to you!”

Lucy considered this for a moment, “Something could have… but it didn’t.” She shrugged. “Besides, I took your knife.” she said drawing a thin blade out from inside her corset.

It said something about Flynn’s state of mind that he hadn’t noticed that it had been missing off his person. “How’d you find that?” he said trying not to look shocked at the fact Lucy had armed herself.

“Who do you think took off your boots?” She busied herself at the basin washing her hands. “That’s a clever place to put a knife sheath, on the inside of your boot.” she commented as she came back to the table where Flynn stood fuming.

“Oh, and I have your hold-out gun.” she said fishing under her skirt and fumbling with something.

“My what? Wait…” he quickly patted himself down. “How did you…”

Lucy sighed, “You gave me your coat last night. It was in one of the inside pockets.” she said as she handed him a palm sized pistol containing only one shot.

She looked at him for a moment, gauging his mood, and then realized she didn’t care about being nice. She was hungry and she knew he had to be too. The emotions of yesterday had left her famished. 

“Sit, eat. We’ve got a lot to talk about and I have some questions.” she said matter of factly, sitting and taking the cover off of a plate of eggs.

Flynn sat opposite and looked at her. “Are we going to talk about how you disappeared without waking me?”

“Nope. You were exhausted. You needed to sleep. And I needed to think. To plan.” she said, biting into a piece of buttered toast. “Here,” she said as she slid the plate of toast towards him, “eat before this gets cold. I had to charm the monsieur to get us a late breakfast up here.”

His eyes snapped up off the toast he was considering, “What’d you do?” he said apprehensively.

She smirked and took another bite of her breakfast, chewed slowly, and swallowed before answering. “I just flirted a little.” At Flynn’s blank look she continued, “You know… smiled and batted my eyelashes… made sure my cloak wasn‘t covering my decollete?”

Flynn’s eyes involuntarily jumped to the place in question before snapping back to his plate. He stabbed at the eggs in front of him. “I don’t recall saying that you could wander off on your own like that.” he said in a surly voice.

“I don’t recall needing your permission.” she retorted and then went back to her meal. 

He could stew for all she cared, but she was eating while the food was hot. With what she had in mind it was hard telling when her next hot meal would be. If her plan worked. If the mother-ship was as capable as she thought it must be. If Anthony was agreeable. If Garcia could stop being the walking time-bomb he was. Ha. That was amusing. Time… Bomb… She smiled at her pun, trying not to think about all the ‘ifs’. She must be more keyed up than she thought to be making juvenile jokes in her head.

“What?” Flynn snapped, seeing her smile to herself. He was still annoyed with Lucy for scaring him. 

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” she replied. Lucy was determined to stay in a positive mood. After yesterday’s revelations she had a choice; laugh or cry. That’s what her Gramma Preston, her dad’s mom, always said. She was done crying. She was done with others manipulating and controlling her life. Everyone wanted something from her. The government wanted her expertise as a historian and to be the team leader for their merry little band. Her mother wanted her to live life the way that she wanted, giving up her own dreams and aspirations. She thought that Wyatt, despite pining after his deceased wife, wanted something more from her. She was very fond of him, but not like that. Noah, a complete stranger to her, wanted her as his fiancée, with all the implied benefits. Flynn… Garcia, wanted her on his side of this warped time equation. 

She was through with doing what everyone wanted. Since she had to deal with all of this one way or another, she was going to do it her way.

She paused in the middle of sipping her coffee and snuck a peek at the man across the table. His hair fell down over his forehead as his head bent to his meal. Did he want anything more from her? Now that she knew about Lorena, about the connection that she and all the “Lucys” shared, she wondered what Garcia Flynn saw every time he looked at her. She desperately hoped that he wanted nothing from her save help in bringing down Rittenhouse. Despite his good looks and charm, at this point she couldn’t handle anything more.

Flynn mechanically ate the food in front of him, not tasting a bite. He was angry with Lucy for leaving the room and putting herself in jeopardy. If he was honest with himself though, she probably hadn’t been in any danger, except from maybe the wandering eye of the monsieur downstairs. No, if he was truly honest with himself he was angry because now that she knew the full truth he felt responsible for her somehow… almost proprietary… but he knew that was foolish. She was no more his Lucy than any of the others had been. He stabbed at an egg in irritation.

He was also puzzled at how Lucy was behaving. He had thought that after learning all about Rittenhouse, her parents, losing Amy for good, and their own connection, that she might have needed some time to sort through it all. He thought that she might be a bit “at sea“. The Lucy he saw before him was not what he expected this morning. This Lucy looked collected… she had mentioned a plan. When had she come up with a plan? And what was it for?

Lucy set her cup down and regarded Garcia across the small table. “Are you going to pout all day?”

He glanced up at her through his bangs, “I’m not pouting. But I am annoyed with you.”

“Well, get over it. I’ve thought about it all night and you’ve been right from the beginning.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, conceding that Flynn had been correct on some point had never been a Lucy trait. He had rarely won an argument with Lorena. “Right about what?”

“Right about how I’m supposed to help you and your nameless organization.”

He took a sip of his coffee, savoring it. It had been just as good when he had been here with Lorena. He ruthlessly shut down that line of thought. She was dead, in the past, and thinking about Lorena was only going to complicate his relationship with Lucy. They were different people for all them being the same.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you. Not till you meet with the head. It doesn’t matter if I trust you. He needs to trust you.”

“And do you trust me?”

He paused, meeting her eyes, holding her gaze intently. Lucy shifted, a little uncomfortable with the weight of his scrutiny. Finally he said, “I do… mostly… but not completely. I don’t know you well enough. You’re not all exactly carbon copies.”

“Fair enough.” she replied, looking out the window. 

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Trust me?” It felt vitally important to him that she did.

She continued to study the sunlight coming though the window. After a long moment, that felt like an eternity to him, she replied, “I don’t know.”

Hearing him scoff she elaborated, “I don’t. I mean, I trust that the information you gave me is true. It’s too crazy to not be!” She turned to look at him, her eyes pleading, “Do I trust you not to hurt me? Yes. You’ve proved that a number of times.” She fell silent and fiddled with her cup.

“But?”

“But you have a temper, you’re angry-”

“I have a right to be.” he spat, cutting her off.

She glared at him, “I know that.” She paused, her hands now pleating her napkin, “But that anger makes you… erratic.” she finished quietly not meeting his eyes. “I trust you to listen to reason… most of the time.”

“And I am reasonable…. Most of the time.” At her raised eyebrow he continued, “Except when I tried to kill a child.“ he said, finally admitting that move hadn’t been the best one. She gave him a look, “And when I decided to kidnap you.” he finished almost meekly.

Their lips quirked, neither one could completely hold back a smile.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the intimacy of their current conversation. “So where did you go?” he asked. At her blank look he elaborated, “This morning?”

“Ah, well about that. I have a plan. And it should work. If it does, it’ll take a leg out from under Rittenhouse.”

“OK,” he paused for a sip of his coffee, “What is it?”

“I’d like to know more first about the mother-ship. What are the differences between it and the prototype. The lifeboat is great. It gets us from A to B and back again, but it’s very low on the amenities. When we jumped in the mother-ship I didn’t feel nauseous. Well, I did. But you had just kidnapped me. Not like when I’m in the lifeboat….” she trailed off.

“There are differences. You’d have to ask Anthony if you want specifics. He’s the pilot, engineer, and mechanic. I’m just along for the ride.”

“I will.” she said and refilled her coffee cup from the urn. “When do you want to head back?”

“Are you going to tell me where you went and how it ties into this plan of yours?” he answered.

“Nope. Not until we’re all together. It’ll keep until then.” she replied and took another bite of toast.

Flynn scowled and went back to the remains of his meal. This Lucy was definitely stubborn… just like the others.

****  
After finishing their meal and leaving the inn they walked back through the bustling market place. Flynn had been trying to pry Lucy’s plan out of her without success.

“Why won't you tell me what's going on?” he asked, pushing his hair back in frustration.

“I'm not going to say anything until we’re with Anthony. I want to talk to both of you at once because I don’t want to go over this twice. Both of you have to agree to this plan.” Lucy huffed, exasperated that she was having to answer this question yet again.

“And if we don't? If one of us doesn't agree?” Flynn sniped.

“Well, I’ll simply disappear.” she replied calmly.

“What?” Flynn stopped dead in the road and looked at her, not sure he heard her correctly. Foot traffic flowed around him as if he were an island. People looked at him curiously as he stood there with his mouth hanging open.

Lucy sighed, “Between what you told me and what history has shown…. if I don't join Rittenhouse soon, I'll end up dead.” she said quietly, holding his gaze, her eyes steely. “I don’t want to end up dead. And I'm tired of being used. The government has used me, Rittenhouse wants to use me, your organization wants to use me.” She stepped closer to him, “This plan really isn't an option. This is a condition for me working for your side.”

Flynn studied Lucy for a moment, as if seeing her for the first time. All the women who had been Lucy up to now had shared all the same characteristics. Quite frankly some of it was genetics. But what personality traits came to the forefront, that was all due to circumstance, to experience. The double agent, Lucy Two, had had a very dominant personality. She had been subtle, she had to be being a double agent, but she had had the drive of an Army general and the will to use it. He was seeing that now in the Lucy before him. She was ready to stand up to Rittenhouse, Flynn’s organization, and Flynn himself.

He heaved a sigh, he knew that he’d get no further with her. Taking her arm he turned her towards the edge of town. “Why don't we head out then. By the time we get back to the clearing Anthony should be ready to open the door. Then you can unveil this secret plan of yours all at once to both of us and we'll see what's going to be done.” 

****

Later, as the bright noon sun sunk into afternoon’s honeyed glow they reach the clearing. Anthony was sitting outside of the mother ship finishing the last pages of his book. Hearing them approach he looked up, a hopeful smile on his face. “Well?“ he asked, “How’d it go?“

Flynn grunted in reply and made a grand sweeping gesture showing Lucy that she had the floor. Lucy shook her head at Flynn’s behavior and sat down on the grass next to Anthony. 

“As fine as it could go, all things considered. Some of what I learned was… disturbing. The rest… that was downright earth shattering.” she replied, subdued. “I’m glad to finally know everything. It’s made things so much clearer.” 

Anthony nodded in sympathy.

After a moment she cleared her throat, “Anthony, am I correct in assuming that the mother ship can take a fourth person?”

Anthony blinked in surprise, “That's why we have a fourth jumpseat.” He looked at her in puzzlement.

“Is it also correct to assume that the mother ship is more sophisticated than the Lifeboat?” she asked.

“Yes.” he said, looking at her as if for the first time.

“How closely can you time the jumps?” she fired off quickly.

“Wait. What does any of this have to do with anything?” Anthony asked bewildered at her line of questioning.

“What this all has to do with is my plan to destabilize Rittenhouse.” she stated calmly.

“You have a plan?” he squeaked.

“She has a plan.” Flynn shrugged.

Lucy scoffed, “Of course I have a plan. You couldn’t insist Garcia tell me everything and then think that I wouldn’t come up with one.” At Anthony’s dazed look she continued in a rush, “Isn’t that why Rittenhouse AND your organization, the one that Garcia won’t tell me the name of, are both interested in having me work for them precisely for that very skill? The ability to analyze history, see the patterns, and figure out another way? Perhaps a better way?”

Anthony shook his head as if trying to make sense of it all. “First, when did you start calling him Garcia?” As Lucy opened her mouth he held up a hand to stop her, “Second, yes… and third, only once the boss approves you can you be let in on our name and inner workings.”

Lucy nodded and her gaze unfocused as she mentally went through the list of questions she had for Anthony. When he didn’t speak, she asked, a little bit more calmly, “I am assuming we can go back to a time when we already existed because you were in both Las Vegas and Dallas. I wouldn't presume to ask you how old you are but I know you were old enough to be in both of those times.”

Anthony sighed, took off his glasses and polished them. “If you told me your plan then…” He put his glasses back on and caught the look Lucy was giving him. “Ok, fine. Don’t tell me the plan. Yes, we can. I'm assuming that the government told you we couldn't jump back to a time we already existed for their own purposes, whatever those may be, but it is possible to jump back in time to a time you already exist.”

“I'm assuming we don't want to see ourselves?”

“Yup. Think of what would happen. You’d probably go nuts.” 

After thinking things through quickly Lucy nodded to herself. “Well, this should work then.”

“Are you finally going to tell us what your grand plan is?” asked Flynn.

“Yes, and no. Yes, I’ll tell you the broad generalities. This plan is going to involve some sacrifice on all our parts. But if everything happens the way I’d like it to,” she shrugs, “Then Rittenhouse will be considerably weakened and we’ll have a much easier time of taking down the rest of their organization. And no, if one or both of you don’t agree to this you can just drop me off at a convenient deserted island and leave me.” Seeing the shock on Anthony’s face she added, “I’m done being a pawn. I have a solid plan. Agree or don’t agree. If you agree, I’ll tell you what I have in mind. If you don‘t… I‘m done playing the game and I will make sure I’m not found.”

The men exchanged looks with each other. Flynn turned away with a shake of his head, Anthony sighed, “I’ve already sacrificed everything for this. I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m in if he is.” he said, gesturing to Flynn.

Flynn studied his boots for a long moment. “And if I don’t?”

“What? You’ll kidnap me again? This is the only way I’ll ever work for your side.” At his continued silence she said quietly, “Garcia, do you trust me?” she asked, echoing the question she had asked over breakfast.

He met her gaze and held it. He did trust her, at least, he trusted Lucy Two and there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for his wife, for Lorena. This Lucy before him was still somewhat of an unknown. But, like Anthony, he had nothing left to lose. He had already lost it all. Finally he nodded, “Yes, I’m in.”

A smile of relief blossomed on Lucy’s face. “Good. Let’s go then.”

*****

End of Volume One


	7. Volume 2: Chapter 1

“Why are we doing this again?” Flynn grumbled rhetorically as they loaded another crate into the storage hold on the mother ship.

Anthony grunted as he lifted the heavy crate and placed it into the hold, “Because you agreed to it.”

“I didn’t agree to it. Lucy just left me with no other option.”

“Then you agreed by default.” Anthony replied as he went for the last crate. They had been loading crates for the last half hour, all of them heavy, all of them necessary for what Lucy had planned. “We need her.” You need her, he thought, but didn’t voice. 

It had been less than 24 hours since coming back from 18th century France. Whether or not Lucy and Flynn had come to an understanding during those two days was irrelevant as far as Anthony was concerned. Although it seemed like they had. Almost. 

Flynn was more centered and focused than he had since Lucy Two had been alive. He glanced over at Flynn who was locking down the cargo hatch. Flynn was more in control, and Lucy was using her analytical “abilities” for their side. That was all that mattered to him.

It didn’t even bother him that not a week before the unfortunate “incident” of Lucy’s kidnapping “The Powers That Be” within their organization had sent Flynn and Anthony a coded message regarding this very out of the way, very unknown, supply depot. The private communication had been odd enough, but the fact that their organization had created this supply depot for them was even odder. They’d never needed nor had one before this. But what was downright eerie was that everything Lucy had on her list of needed supplies for this mission was already here, boxed up and waiting in this tiny little shack in the middle of nowhere. It even had a period costume for Anthony. 

The mission was one thing that was bothering Anthony. Lucy had been very tight lipped about what precisely they were going to be doing and exactly how long they were going to be gone. The only thing she had been explicit about was obtaining the supplies she deemed necessary to get the job done. Anthony had gathered from the markings on the crates he had loaded that they’d be gone for some time. He just wasn’t sure how long. He shrugged. They had a time machine after all. And at this point he tried to take everything philosophically. His wife, his family, they were safe because of the sacrifices he had made for them. It didn’t matter that they believed him dead. They were safe and that was all that mattered.

Lucy came out of the tiny hut. “That was the last of it. I guess we’re ready to go.” she said.

Flynn shrugged back into his jacket, “Are you going to finally share where we’re going?”

Lucy gave both men a guarded look, and without speaking she climbed into the mother-ship. The two men climbed in behind her.

“Well?” Flynn asked again as he came in and secured the door behind him.

Lucy was buckling herself into her seat. She glanced up at Garcia, braced herself for the explosion she was sure would come next, and said, “New York, September 25, 1780.”

XXX

“Why are we doing this again?” grumbled Flynn softly for what seemed the hundredth time.

“Because your plan sucked, that’s why.” Lucy whispered back from where she crouched. In the dark of the night sound seemed to travel farther.

The three of them were hiding alongside a barn near the edge of some woods. They had left the mother-ship concealed a half mile into the forest. When Lucy had finally explained the plan it was fortunate that they were actually inside the mother-ship because Flynn had exploded.

XXX

“You should have let me do it my way and we wouldn’t have to be doing this!” Flynn shouted at her, losing his temper. Lucy had just given them the time, the location, and fleshed out the plan for them. It was absurd yet brilliant. He hated it, but it would work, and he knew it, he just didn’t have to like it.

“Your way made you a monster.” she had stated quietly, “I don’t think either one of us could have lived with the consequences of your plan.” Her calm in the face of his lack of control sobered Flynn. “My way is the only way I see that destabilizes Rittenhouse enough for your side to take them down swiftly… completely.”

“That you see.” he snorted derisively, turning his face away.

“Yes, that I see. That IS what Rittenhouse bred me for after all.” Lucy huffed back. “I’m not being modest when I say I think I’m rather good at it too.”

Flynn looked back at her, obviously displeased. 

“You can let me out now if it’s a problem.” Lucy said, her hands moving to the buckles on her straps. 

When Flynn didn’t reply she continued, “Look, I know that spending the next 6 months in the past isn’t ideal, but I don’t see any other way. Your way makes him a martyr and what cause doesn’t just love one of those.” she pointed out.

When Flynn was still silent she added, “If we kidnap and spirit him away, he’s no longer useful to them. He can’t be the next leader… or figurehead… or whatever. It’ll take them years to regroup, if they ever do…. Isn’t that what we all want?” she asked, her voice pleading.

Flynn was quiet for a moment, considering, “Fine. Yes. Let’s just get this over with.” he snapped.

Her plan kept them in close quarters for far longer than he was comfortable with. 

Her plan, if it worked, would destabilize Rittenhouse and allow them to end this war much sooner.

Her plan, however, would also destabilize the carefully erected wall he had placed around himself when Lorena died. Up to this point it had been distance that had kept those walls up, not his own will power. He had experienced that somewhat when Lucy Two had worked with them. Despite Lucy Two’s obvious disinterest in him as anything other than a friend Flynn had felt himself inexorably drawn to her like a moth to the flame. He glanced over to where Lucy sat waiting for the jump, her head back, eyes closed, hands clenched on the webbing that held in her. He sighed, having Lucy around was going to make each day of these upcoming six months seem like both Heaven, and Hell.

Anthony flipped the final switch, the ship shifted, and for a moment in time, he stopped thinking.

XXX

“So what are we waiting for?” Anthony whispered.

“For the yelling to start. When we hear yelling, we can run in and grab him before anyone notices.” replied Lucy.

“We? No. You’ll stay here. Anthony and I will go.” Flynn said.

Lucy looked over her shoulder at him. “Of course I’ll go.”

“He’s as big as you are. Anthony would be more help; he‘s stronger. You’ll keep watch.”

The moon was hiding behind a cloud. In the dark it was hard to see Lucy’s face but after a moment she huffed, “Fine. You’re right.”

The hint of a smile crept across Flynn’s lips at her response. It fled a moment later when they all heard a man yelling.

“Time to go.” whispered Flynn as he nudged Anthony.

Lucy watched them creep off into the night.

XXX

Not more than 10 minutes had passed when Flynn and Anthony rounded the corner of the barn, Flynn had a body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Anthony had Flynn’s gun out.

“Is he ok?” Lucy squeaked.

“He’s fine, the ether did it’s job. I just want to be careful. There are others roving the woods tonight.”

He could see Lucy nod in the moonlight. She knew both friends and foes had been thick in the woods the last time they were here.

“We should go, we don’t want to run into anyone.” Lucy said nervously.

All three of them jumped as a call rang out through the night. “LUCY!” 

“Time to go.” grunted Flynn as he shifted the body on his shoulder and led them off in the opposite direction, back towards where they left the mother-ship.

Lucy and Anthony followed quickly as another call rang out through the night air, “WYATT!”

They swiftly made their way back to their ship, all the while calls ringing out but growing fainter as they traveled in the opposite direction. At the ship Flynn handed the still inert body up to Anthony. He turned and, like a night not too long ago, took Lucy by the waist and hoisted her up to the mouth of the ship where Anthony helped her the rest of the way in. 

As Lucy settled into her chair, Flynn zip-tied the captive’s arms to the chair he was propped up in. Anthony was flipping switches and turned to Lucy.

“So where are we heading now?” he asked his eyes on the control panels.

“Back to France. About a month after the last visit.” she nodded towards the body in the jump seat across from her, “He and I have an appointment to keep.” 

Anthony turned around. “So are you finally going to tell me who this is?” 

Lucy hesitated, licking her lips. Anthony looked at Flynn.

Saying nothing Flynn sat back into his own chair, a disgusted look on his face. 

Lucy cleared her throat, “Anthony, I’d like you to meet John Rittenhouse.”

"Why are we doing this again?" Flynn asked again rhetorically.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for being so patient in-between posting chapters. Real life has once again reared it's ugly head and gotten in the way of my fantasy life. I have the rest of the story plotted out, a number of chapters half worked, and the ending finished. Just continue to be patient! It'll be worth it!

XXXX

Flynn’s last words, “Why are we doing this?” still rang in the air as the mother-ship settled into the damp forest ground as her engines winded down.

Anthony powered down the ship and turned in his chair looking at Lucy expectantly. Lucy looked back and then at Flynn. Flynn was studying his hands pretending to ignore them both. John snorted in his sleep, startling Lucy. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and began explaining her plan.

XXX

“So you see, if you had killed him John would have been the perfect martyr for Rittenhouse to rally around and then press on. This way their side has to spend time and energy trying to find him. Once they realize they can’t then they’ll spend even more time trying to reorganize. I can imagine the power struggle that will go on with various lieutenants vying for Rittenhouse’s daughters’ hands so one of them can claim legitimacy. Even then it will take them decades to get back up to strength. Maybe they never will.” 

“We could have killed him and left the body elsewhere, else-when.” Flynn replied coolly. Up to this point he hadn’t spoken. 

“Killing John was never an option.” she said wearily.

Flynn scoffed his eyes boring into her.

“You know it wasn’t right and you know how much it would have cost you. Could you really have killed a child in cold blood like what happened to…” Lucy stopped short of saying her name. 

There was silence as Flynn looked away.

“So we’re to spend 6 months living in France waiting for John to get up to speed so he can be left on his own? An apprentice to the local clock maker?” Anthony asked.

“Yup.” Lucy nodded. “I worked it all out yesterday morning before we left. I even managed to rent us a small farmhouse on the outskirts of town.”

Flynn‘s head whipped around, “You expect us to farm?” 

“No, I expect you to teach.” At his dumbfounded look she continued. “Look, I spent all night planning this out and while you slept in I had a long chat with the local clock maker. He’s looking to take on a new apprentice once his old one moves on. I noticed the sign in his window while you were buying a newspaper two days back. Before we spoke in the park.”

“But I’m still not following why we need to be here 6 months or why I am supposed to be a teacher.”

“It’ll be Spring before the old apprentice moves on and John can have his old room at the clock-maker’s. We need to do something so that we bring in an income and don’t look too out of place while we wait.”

At Flynn's hum of disapproval her eyes skewered him, "It's not perfect but it'll do. Small towns always need teachers. I can't work outside the house without a serious step down in status for all of us: meaning John won't get taken on as an apprentice to the only clock maker in town, a skill he happens to excel at. Anthony doesn't speak French. What else were you going to do? Catch fish to sell in the market? Hire yourself out as the local hit-man?"

Flynn looked down, his face tight.

“Why couldn’t we have just shown up at the correct time? Why do this the slow way?”

“Because I know that John doesn’t speak French fluently.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Flynn was getting exasperated. 

“I spent time talking with him while you guys were busy doing whatever it was while we waiting on David Rittenhouse to show up.”

“But then why not drop him in England?”

“Too easy to find him. And too easy for John to find a way back if he wakes up uncooperative.” Lucy’s voice took an edge. She was getting tired of Garcia giving her grief over this. He knew it was her way or no way at all. “Come on, we’re in the middle of the Alps. He’s 13. No money and bad language skills. I don’t see him walking out of here to go back to Rittenhouse.”

At Flynn’s sigh, she finished more gently, “Look, I know it’s not ideal but it’s the best I could come up with on short notice. I’m not looking forward to 6 months with no indoor plumbing and keeping house but we’re all in this together now…. And really it’s my way or I go my own way and disappear.”

After a long silence Anthony clapped his hands together, “OK, what’s next then?”

Lucy shrugged, ”We wait for John to wake up, we tell him everything, and then we go take a look at the farmhouse I rented for us.”

Flynn tipped his head back, groaning, “Why are we doing this again?” 

XXX

In the end John had been surprisingly easy to deal with. When he awoke inside the mother-ship it took him some time to come up to speed on what had happened to him, what his new reality was, and that he really wasn’t dreaming. Showing him the documentation on all the Lucys had helped, as had powering up the mother-ship. John may have been a child and incredulous but in the face of such technology, not to mention the color photos, he eventually came to grips with everything.

At one point John started to weep. The adults were not surprised. Despite children growing up quicker in his time he still was a child and a mere few hours ago Flynn had tried to murder him. When Lucy attempted to comfort him, to apologize for her plan, for the death of his father, for taking him away from everything he knew they were shocked with John’s reply.

“No, no. You don’t understand.” he drew in a shuddering breath. “My father was a monster and he was… very cruel to me. He made me watch when… you wouldn't have been the first." his glance strayed to Lucy and but he couldn't meet her eyes.

"He said that when I was older I was going to help him with his plans… " John paused again and tried to get control of himself. 

"I have prayed and prayed… for so long… that God would take me out of the hell I was living…” He looked up at them meeting each one’s eyes in turn, “And now He has.”

The adults fell silent, dumbfounded. No one had expected this reaction. Lucy had thought they would need to plead with John. Anthony had thought that John would be angry and confused. Flynn had assumed the boy would run. The three of them exchanged glances. Flynn shrugged, sat forward and flipped out his knife. As the blade flipped open John flinched but didn’t say anything as Flynn cut his bonds. 

“Well, since you’re being so agreeable at least I won’t have to carry you out of here. We should go and start the next part of Lucy‘s plan.”


	9. The first weeks in France

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this story. Real life certainly has gotten in the way of my fantasy life. Most of the story is complete, I work on it during my daily commute. I just need to find the time to polish up each chapter and post it for you!
> 
> Please note that there are a number of French words used within this chapter and I tried to ensure that my spelling and abbreviations were correct. If you notice a mistake, let me know. Writers love feedback and there's nothing so annoying as reading something with typos.
> 
> Lastly, if any of you are wondering, I'm already adding on to my story line. When this story ends I have a new story in the works that lends itself nicely to what's happening in season 2.
> 
> Enjoy!

John woke slowly, the early morning light filtering through the attic window making the dust motes light up and dance in the air over his head. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and rolled his shoulders. He had slept well and dreamlessly. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Ever since he could remember he had slept poorly, suffered nightmares, and awoken tense. Life with these strangers was turning out to be far different than life with his father had been. It had been two days since they had arrived here in the mountains of France. So far, nothing had happened. That had surprised him after Flynn’s attempted murder only a few nights ago not to mention all the violence that happened with his father around. No one had beaten him, berated him, or forced him to witness anything unspeakable. All they had done to him was ask his help to unload the time machine contraption of the provisions and hide the large machine. 

Two days ago when John awoke inside the machine and Lucy, now Cousin Lucy, had explained to him what was happening a part of him had believed them. However seeing Mr. Bruhl, Uncle Anthony as he was supposed to call him, make the machine disappear into thin air that was something else entirely. Then there were the supplies. Some things were common place, such as additional clothes and money. But other things were truly amazing. Slates that magically displayed words upon them instead of needing chalk with which to write, medicine that supposedly cured a myriad of diseases, and music that came out of tiny little boxes. John shook his head again in wonder.

He stretched and arose, swiftly making up his bed and slipping into his clothes. After everything had been transported and stowed that first full day, the adults had told him that the next day was for rest. And that was exactly what they all did; nothing but eat, sleep, and clean themselves up. Once he had stopped being frightened John had taken a good look at the three adults. They were all tired, haggard, and drawn. He felt tired too. John had not had time like that in longer than he could remember. B.L., Before Lucy, as he had started to refer to it in his own mind, his father had ruled every moment of every day. John had done little without permission or fear of swift reprisal. But yesterday had been like a dream. He had even sat outside in the sun for a few hours just studying the natural world around him, something his father had never allowed him to do saying it was daydreaming and a waste of time. John felt almost relaxed, a very foreign feeling in his young life.

B.L., John felt he had no family. Mother had died in childbirth with him. Father was… well, a tyrant. It was true that he had older sisters but they were kept cloistered away waiting for the day their father married them off to advantage. So John was always alone in the crowd of sycophants, underlings, and ruffians that constantly surrounded his father. Now he had three adults who had gone to great length to take him out of his old life and were committing almost a year out of their lives to make his own a better one. John was beginning to look at the true meaning of family.

Bending, he fastened his shoes. He smiled to himself as he descended the stairs to the kitchen. Now his future was bright. Cousin Lucy had explained to him that shortly he would be apprenticed to the local clockmaker. At least once he learned enough French to be conversant and the current apprentice moved on in the spring. He was blessed to have this second chance at a life of his own and if learning French and living with these strangers was the price he had to pay, he was happy to pay it. Lucy had given him everything his heart had desired, a future with freedom. He had only known her a few days but already he would do anything for her.

xxxxx

Anthony brought the two stools out of the house and into the yard as Lucy had requested. It was Laundry Day and since the weather was still fine the help was doing it out there in the barnyard. They had been in France now for a number of weeks and their routines were established. Every morning but Sunday after breakfast Flynn and John left for the local school: Flynn to teach and John to learn. Both were eager to get out of the house and start their day. John was hungry to learn anything and everything. Being around boys his own age was helping John deal with the rapid changes in circumstances. John was starting to act like a real boy, not his father’s puppet. Anthony suspected that Flynn, however, was eager to be away from Lucy and all that she represented. He could tell that Flynn was already struggling with the close quarters, the down time, and playing family. Anthony had been fighting Rittenhouse almost as long as Flynn and while Anthony was enjoying every moment of this time out of “the game” he knew that Flynn couldn’t stop thinking, stop planning, on how to further damage Rittenhouse.

Anthony saw the helper woman look up as he approached. Madame Hennion smiled at him and Anthony felt like a prize goose being sized up. He looked down to avoid her gaze. Lucy straightened and cleaned and a local widow came three days a week to help with the heavier work. When making her initial plans Lucy had even thought to hire someone to help her as she had no idea of how to run or care for a house and family in this time period. There were no washing machines, microwaves, or vacuum cleaners. Lucy had explained away her ignorance of the womanly arts by introducing Anthony as the eccentric traveling professeur uncle, her only family, who had taught her book learning but no practical skills.

In keeping with his eccentric persona Anthony had taken to speaking little when the help was around, and then only in languages she wouldn’t understand, like Pig Latin - that had gotten a laugh out of Lucy. He also took long walks in the woods. The walks were necessary: he checked on the Mothership daily. They also kept him out from underfoot. Apparently Madame Hennion had raised a large brood of children and she was not adverse to putting idle hands to work, even if they belonged to her employer. Besides, over the last weeks, her looks had lasted longer and had become more appraising. Anthony was already happily married, even if his wife thought him dead. He had no desire to entangle himself with anyone, ever, certainly not a widow with many children. Setting the stools down in the shade, Anthony smiled at Lucy and gave her a quick peck on the cheek - he was her uncle after all, he departed quickly for the shade and tranquility of the woods before he was asked to start hauling wood for the fire. He was growing quite fond of Lucy but that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around when Madame Hennion was there.

xxxxx

Madam Hennion didn’t miss much. After raising her brood of six boys and three girls she had seen it all and knew when people were lying. Especially young people. While she wasn’t yet a crone Madame Hennion was a good twenty years older than her employers, Monsieur and Madame Flynn, and that made them children in her mind. She liked them: they were good people, treated her well, and didn’t complain if her old bones kept her from getting to their isolated farmhouse exactly when she was supposed to. But there was something off about them. She pondered that for a moment as she dumped the load of wet clothes out of the wash tub and into the pot of boiling water she had set up in the yard. The weather had been nice since the new family had arrived here in their town so this is where she did their laundry, at least until the snow started to fly. 

She heaved the last white shirt into the pot and stood for a moment resting, leaning against the stirring stick. New families weren’t unheard of in their mountainous town. Geneve was, after all, becoming a bustling town full of commerce and education. Many of her generation were proud over what their town was growing into. She supposed that was what brought them here. Monsieur Flynn was a teacher of sorts. He didn’t exactly fit the teacher mold she was accustomed to, thin, bookish, and quiet. Monsieur Flynn was tall, commanding, and intense. But she had noted a keen intelligence in his eyes and he had a presence that kept the boys at l’ecole cowed, in their books, and out of trouble.

Her mistress came around the corner with a pitcher of water and glasses, her uncle with two stools. The older man set them down, smiled slightly at her, said a few words in English to the mistress and wandered off. She watched his retreating back. She supposed he would go walk the woods as he had been doing almost every day since she had started working for them. He kept to himself and kept himself out of her way. He was polite, but although Mdme and Msr had informed her that he had been a professeur in the colonies, the man spoke no French, and he had taught his niece nothing useful. That was the very reason that she had been hired on. Mdme Flynn had grown up an orphan in her uncle’s care. The poor child had never had a mother’s care nor a woman’s instruction. Msr. Bruhl had traveled from place to place teaching. His niece learned at his knee and from everything she had overheard Madame Flynn could have been an excellent professeur herself if she had been born a man. As it was, Madame hadn't even known how to light a fire. 

Madame Hennion looked on as her mistress poured them both a glass of water. Mdme Flynn was a slight woman, very pretty and well kept for her age. Most women approaching their mid-thirties were starting to show wear from the constant work of housekeeping and motherhood. But mdme had never kept house and she had no children. Madame Hennion shrugged and took the proffered water. If nothing else, her mistress was kind, very eager to learn, and spoke excellent French. 

“Would you like more water?” asked Lucy breaking into her thoughts.

Madam Hennion set her glass down and went back to stir the pot of laundry. “No madame, it’s best I get this finished up so I can show you how to prepare tonight’s dinner.”

“I could help you with that. It looks hot and tiring.” 

“No madame, your husband was very clear about this. Why don’t you work on the knitting? Your men will need scarves for the winter. The snow will come soon and be deep.”

Already Mdme had learned to bake bread and keep the fires going. Madame Hennion was also in the process of teaching her to knit. She had figured that by Spring she may have taught herself out of a job except for the fact that Msr Flynn had insisted that her mistress do as little cleaning and laundry as possible. He had said it was because he liked his wife’s hands soft and unscarred, kissing her hand in a rare show of affection. Madame Hennion supposed it was really because the mistress was delicate and, despite her age, they were hoping to start a family. Either way, she didn’t care. But there was still something not quite right about them all. Madame Hennion glanced at Lucy, her gut told her that these two needed prodding otherwise their fledgling marriage wouldn’t live to see adulthood. Yes, some prodding was in order.

 

xxxxx

Lucy huffed in exasperation and went back to the house for her work basket. When she returned and had picked up the knitting Madame Hennion continued chatting, “You should feel lucky, your husband wants you to stay pretty. I’ve heard it said in town that he looks neither right, nor left, when he goes to and from the school. And I know that some of the women in town have been trying to catch his eye. He is a very handsome man. He must love you very much…” she trailed off seeing if Lucy would respond.

Lucy blushed and bent her head over her knitting. For the last week Madame Hennion had been gently probing about her relationship with Garcia. "Hmph, what relationship? We barely speak and when he kissed my hand after telling Madame Hennion about the laundry it was the only time he’s deliberately touched me since we were here the first time. The only reason we concocted that bit of the story was that I won’t be able to hide work roughened hands when we get back to the present," she thought. Finally she responded, “He is handsome, yes, and I suppose so.”

Madame Hennion shrugged, “He must, since you’ve been here almost three months and he hasn’t taken a mistress. Even in out of the way Geneve married folk find lovers just like in Paris. But perhaps you give him no reason to seek love elsewhere," she added suggestively. As Lucy’s blush deepened Madame Hennion chuckled, “It’s not that way with every man. My own Henri never strayed, but I made sure to keep him very… satisfied, as your husband must be!”

Lucy said nothing in response hoping that Madame Hennion would stop the train of the conversation. "As if I would be interested in Garcia, I mean, he is very handsome, but after everything he would never, could never consider anyone other than Lorena. And I’m too busy trying to save the world," her thoughts rambled. But the thought of being intimate with Garcia wouldn’t leave her, it sat in the back of her mind no matter how she tried to banish the thought. Madame Hennion went on, oblivious to Lucy’s inattention, “Of course, all that love kept me busy with our many children.” She glanced at Lucy’s slim figure, “I am sure that you’ll have one before too long.”

Lucy smiled enigmatically as she thought about their sleeping arrangements. Since Lucy needed the help and guidance with the housework they all knew that they would need to keep the pretense of marriage and family even inside the house. Lucy and Garcia shared the large master bedroom while Anthony took the second floor room and John took the tiny attic. Of course, once the bedroom door was locked Garcia took the floor in front of the fire making up a bed with the extra pillow and blankets. 

xxx

“You can have the bed, or we can switch off.” she said, trying to be pleasant.

Garcia glared at her, “I’ll take the floor.”

She shrugged, “OK,” and she stepped behind the screen to change. When she had come out Garcia was already laying on the floor, ostensibly asleep, eyes closed, head pillowed on his arms. After the look he had given her she hadn’t brought it up again.

xxx

Madame Hennion spoke again bringing Lucy back to the present. “Of course, your man seems to be the quiet sort, not one for showy affection.” she added, fishing for a comment as she fished the shirts out of the steaming water, one by one.

“No, he is rather reserved.” Lucy said stabbing at the stitch on the needle. She thought of the long silences between them every night since their arrival. Garcia was talkative enough when they all sat by the fire but once they retired to their bedroom his face became blank, his eyes shuttered, and he answered only in single syllables.

Madame Hennion smiled as she pulled out the last shirt, “Well, you know what they say… still waters run deep.”

Over the course of the weeks Lucy and Garcia had come to a routine of sorts. They’d retire together, Garcia locking the door behind him. They spoke little, some nights not at all. Lucy would change behind the screen and then brush out her hair at the dressing table. Garcia would sit by the fire brooding until he was ready to sleep. Lucy had noted that Garcia usually just took off his neck cloth, untucked his shirt and slept in his breeches. His gun never left his side even in the locked bedroom. It seemed that he was always ready to leap up even though they all knew that they were safe. Lucy didn’t know if he slept with it out of habit or if he thought he’d need it out in the middle 18th century France. Lucy could hear him toss and turn in the night, some nights he slept badly and wake with a start. Always in the morning he was awake and gone from the room before she arose. 

Lucy just smiled in response as she put her knitting down and moved to help hang the shirts on the line. Madame allowed her help with that. Pinning shirts wouldn’t roughen Lucy’s pretty hands. Now that Madame Hennion’s mouth was full of pins the questions and prodding stopped for which Lucy was grateful. Lucy was a pro at evading questions after her months of time travel but the constant prodding and the close quarters she shared with Garcia were beginning to take their toll. Sometimes she actually forgot what she was doing here, trying to cut down Rittenhouse before they took hold of the world. Sometimes she awoke happy, forgetting that this life was the fantasy not the reality, and those moments were becoming more and more frequent.

xxxxx

That afternoon Madame Hennion walked slowly home hoping to run into Monsieur Flynn on the road. She saw him approach with the boy, the mistress’s young cousin, and she stopped to wait.

Flynn called out as they approached, “Good afternoon Madame Hennion, how was your day?” he asked as he stopped in front of her and gave a little bow. He could be charming when it was necessary and with her it was. From the first day of her employment Garcia Flynn had sized her up and realized that not only was she a force to be reckoned with, she was also as sharp as a tack.

“Just fine, sir. Your wife is a very apt pupil and your dinner tonight should be very good.” she smiled at him. “But I would like to speak to you about something if you have a moment.” Flynn saw her glance at John.

Flynn turned to John, “I’ll see you back at the house.”

John looked at the both of them as if trying to divine what the issue was. They met his curious gaze with blank stares. Giving up he shrugged and walked on leaving the two of them alone on the forest road.

He turned to look at Madame Hennion expectantly.

“Would you take some advice from an old woman who has been married a long time?” she asked.

“You’re hardly ancient, Mdme." He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Where is this going?" he wondered. 

She smiled and winked at him, “You’re very kind… I’ll just come out with it. I know men don’t like to beat around the bush.”

Flynn graced her with another winning smile, “For you, I have all day. What is the problem?” Had something happened at the house? In town? Did someone suspect them? Had Rittenhouse somehow found them? He tamped down on his rising anxiety.

“You really should show affection towards your wife, otherwise she’ll be snapped up by someone in town. I see the way she is looked at when we go to market together. I know,” she said, “you are busy with your teaching at the school. But you really do spend too much time there and the other men notice how often your wife is alone.”

Flynn’s relief turned to annoyance, “Well it's my job.” he said curtly.

He saw Madame Hennion’s eyes narrow and look at him as if he were one of her children. “It is not your job to work all the hours that God gave you. It is your job to be a good husband to your wife and give her many children. But as I can see you haven't even been doing that from the way she blushes when I ask if you've been performing your husbandly duties.”

Flynn felt poleaxed, he had forgotten how much women would talk, “You’ve asked her if we, if I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say next.

She looked up at him with pity, “My dear boy, women talk about such matters even if men do not. I’m just trying to tell you that if you don’t look after your wife some other man will try and weasel his way in. Already the fishmonger has tried to give her more fish than she has ordered… all under the pretense of being friendly to the new family. I wouldn’t let her take it. He’s got a wandering eye and two wandering hands. But I can tell you, monsieur, he won’t be the last until you make it plain that your pretty wife is very much yours.”

Flynn’s face clouded over with embarrassment, anger, and something undefinable. “Thank you madame for your advice, I’d best be heading home,” he said abruptly and left her standing in the road. He knew he had been rude but he needed to think.

As Flynn continued his way home he realized that the woman was correct. He had been too used to living in his own time and alone. Despite all his time travel he had never stayed anywhere long enough to worry about the customs of the time. He needed to show some affection to Lucy at least while the help was around. He also needed to come home immediately after school so that the townsfolk would stop gossiping about how Lucy was alone so much. He should have known that as the newest people to Geneve that they would be discussed.

Walking through the forest was peaceful and he took his time so he could work out his thoughts. He knew he had been deliberately staying away from Lucy since their arrival here. Teaching at the school was a convenient excuse. It wasn’t as if Lucy should mind him being scarce. He knew that, despite his reasons, after everything he had done Lucy would never look at him with any regard. "Why would you want her to? It’s not as if you already care about her. She’s just the means to stop Rittenhouse," he thought. Flynn tried to convince himself his thoughts were truth and yet he knew better. He couldn’t help watch her whenever they were together. It was torturous sleeping in the same room, watching her brush out her hair, hearing her sigh in her sleep, or moan if her dreams were bad. It took everything he had some nights not to move her hair aside kiss the back of her neck while she sat at the dressing table or go to her and comfort her when he heard her cry out. "She’s not Lorena, you have to stop this. Lucy doesn’t deserve this after everything she’s been through," he thought. They were so alike and yet so different. He couldn’t help but be attracted to her and that drove a shaft of guilt through him. How could he forget Lorena?

As Flynn approached the small farmhouse he could smell something delicious wafting out the open window. Lucy’s cooking skills had improved under the tutelage of Madame Hennion even if she were a nosy old hen. Trying to set his thoughts aside he opened the door and walked in, not realizing how grim his face looked.  
John looked up, his own face growing pale, “What’s wrong? Have they found us?”

At that Flynn came back to the present and smiled at the boy.

“No,” he said. “No one is after us. Madame just has some concerns about the state of our marriage.” He directed the last to Lucy across the table. 

Anthony looked up from what he was working on at the window and said, “Well, it's not as if you to act like you're married. You barely speak to each other when anyone else is around.”

Lucy went back to finishing the dinner preparations. As she brought the pot of stew to the table she said, “I suppose we could start acting a little bit more affectionate when Madame Hennion is around.”

Flynn glanced at her. “It's not just that, although that would help. There's been talk in town that I spend too much time at the school and not enough time tending to my wife. Apparently the men in town have noticed and a few of them have been sniffing around.” he said, glaring at her.

“It's not like I encourage it.” she responded tartly. Lucy thunked the pot down on the table. He could tell he had annoyed her. He felt his own annoyance growing. "How does she do this to me?" he thought, trying to reign his feelings back in.

“I never said you did. I know you wouldn't jeopardize our mission with idle flirtation. But apparently because I am not seen making that much of an effort over my wife they assume we are not besotted with each other and therefore you are fair game as a mistress.” his accent thickened as his annoyance grew. "I’d kill the first man who touched her," the thought flashed unbidden, startling him in its intensity. They stared at each other, the tension between them palpable.

“Well, you could always start bringing her flowers.” John said, as he distributed the bowls and plates. The adults looked at him in surprise. “What? Just because I was never taught about the fairer sex doesn’t mean I’m completely devoid of rational thought. Women like flowers," he said as he finished setting the table.

The three adults chuckled, the tension broken, and they sat to eat. After dinner was finished and they all cleaned up - something that was new to John, doing housework, they usually sat by the fireplace in the evenings attending to their chosen tasks. Lucy, Anthony, and John all worked on the mending while Flynn usually cleaned one of his many guns and was in the process of teaching them Croatian.

“I have to do housework, learn French AND Croatian,” John complained early on.

Lucy smiled as she worked on mending a rent in Garcia’s shirt, “Someday you’ll have to take care of yourself and not depend on someone else to sew your buttons back on.”

“And we need a language to communicate in that no one here is likely to understand,” added Flynn as he reassembled the gun before him.

That had been weeks ago and John hadn't complained since. The mending pile was always small thanks to many hands and they were all progressing in Croatian.

xxxxx

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” Garcia said quietly as he shut and locked their bedroom door.

Lucy turned to look at him, surprised that he was speaking to her. “It’s fine, I know that this has got to be stressful for you. It’s not easy on any of us.” 

He gave her a small smile and sat to remove his boots.

“You know, we really could switch off on the bed. The floor doesn’t look all that comfortable.” she said, trying to be pleasant.

Garcia merely looked at her with a flat, slightly disgusted look, and picked up the book he had been working on this week. “You realize we’ll have to up our game,” he said going back to their earlier conversation.

Lucy sighed and went to work the pins out of her hair. Sitting down at the dressing table she worked her hands through her hair. “I know, and I’m sorry, but we both know how important this is,” she said. Garcia turned to stare into the empty fireplace.

“John’s suggestion was a good one,” Lucy added as she shook out her hair and picked up her brush.

“As if I need the help.” She heard him snort, “I do remember how this is done.”

After a long pause he added, “He is a good kid. I’m glad you stopped me.”

Lucy turned and found him looking at her, their eyes met, “I am too. For his sake, and for your’s.”

xxxxx

The next morning Flynn loitered over his coffee waiting for Madame Hennion to appear. As the door opened and she walked in, he stood, finished the last gulp and set the cup down complimenting Lucy on how she had improved. Steeling himself he bent down and kissed Lucy’s cheek as he walked towards the door. 

“John, time to go. Was there anything you needed from town wife?” he turned and asked Lucy.

Lucy, surprised by both the kiss and his question, stammered, “No, no, there’s nothing. Have a good day… husband.”

With a nod to a smiling Madame Hennion Flynn and John walked out the door.

Anthony stood also and gathered up his reading to head out for the day. He smiled to himself as he headed across the yard and into the woods. While he knew Flynn’s feelings he hadn’t been sure of where Lucy stood. But her blush and flustered words spoke volumes. He had thought Lucy’s plan to spend time in France had been a good one. Now he thought it was a great one.


End file.
